Aftershocks
by brownpaperbags
Summary: Sequel to The Trust of a King. Merlin and Arthur are faced with the return of a powerful enemy who will stop at nothing to get what she wants. All the while, the two men face trouble within the walls of Camelot as they seek to undo the damage done by Uther. Will the combined threats be the death of them or will the two men conquer all?
1. A Battle Without Swords

**Author's Note**: _Alright everyone this is the first chapter to the next story in my series. For any of you that have not read _The Trust of a King _I would highly recommend doing so or else you may not know some of the characters. Anyways, the feedback I got from the last story was amazing so I hope you enjoy this one as well. As a little teaser I will let you know that Morgana makes an appearance in this story. Please review and happy reading!_

"Nervous," the warlock asked, bustling about his king in a futile attempt to make him look slightly less disheveled than he was.

"Why would I be nervous, Merlin," the king grunted watching with a sort of detached amusement as his young friend betrayed his own nerves by dropping about everything he touched.

"Well, this isn't just any day is it? I mean today is the day you make your intentions for magic clear to the court. It has to be a little daunting."

"I don't have any reason to be nervous. If things begin to go sourly I can always just pretend you've enchanted me. Its an easy out."

"Glad to see you have my back, Arthur. I knew I could count on you when things got tough."

Merlin may have made this particular statement in a rather sarcastic, biting manner, but the truth was that the young warlock could indeed count on his king when things got tough. Arthur had proven this to him less than five months ago when, unintentionally of course, found out that his friend of almost a decade had magic. Not only had the king more or less accepted the warlock he had gone on a life or death mission in order to save his life and Merlin would forever be grateful.

The past five months had been a blur of long conversations and magical demonstrations that would all culminate to a single meeting inside his sire's courtroom. The two men would be attempting to prove that their was a positive side of magic and that, if such power was deployed properly, it could be used not only to protect Camelot, but to open doors that had previously been closed to them.

Merlin and his king had discussed, in great length mind you, which members of the court would be their easiest allies and which would be their staunchest opponents. They had devised a plan of action for each of them and felt reasonably sure they could at least soften them up enough to further the conversation past the initial shock of the idea.

Where the conversation went from there, however, was entirely unknown to them. Perhaps if they had decided to not use Merlin as an example of what Arthur had termed 'magical innocence', a term the warlock still smirked at every time he heard it, the fear of failure wouldn't be so tangible. Now, if they failed, Merlin's secret would be out for the entire world to see and he knew that he could prove deadly to him. He was powerful, of course, but he wasn't invincible and knew that their were townsfolk who would be more than willing to drive a sword through his heart in order to settle and old score.

Arthur had promised that no matter what the outcome he would find a place for the warlock by his side, even if he had to go against the royal court to do so. Merlin hadn't quite decided if he would actually allow Arthur to go to such drastic measures, but didn't risk mentioning this little detail to his king, knowing that Arthur needed all the confidence he could get. Besides, they had become so comfortable with one another these last few months that to think of leaving brought Merlin physical pain.

The moment they had returned from their perilous journey to the lands of the Fair Folk Arthur had made it perfectly clear that Merlin was no longer the man's servant. Sure, the king had yet to assign him a new position in the court, but the warlock knew that he would do so when the time was right. For the time being Merlin merely accompanied his sire on his usual rounds and while such an occurrence was entirely normal there conversation was anything but.

They discussed everything from the inner workings of magic to how his relationship with his newfound Fair Folk woman was going. Arthur liked to tease him mercilessly about his lack of experience in anything to do with romance and Merlin took the ribbing for awhile before following it up with a jab at his king for the many times he'd put his foot in his mouth when dealing with Guinevere. Sometimes, when Arthur could come up with a reasonable excuse to escape, the two of them would wander off into the forests bordering Camelot. Once hidden, Merlin would delight in showing his friend his abilities in magic and had frequently astonished his king into silence. Arthur had even tried to learn a few words of the Old Tongue, but he mangled them so badly Merlin flinched every time an attempt was made.

To the public eye, of course, Merlin was exactly what he'd always been which was Arthur's servant. The king would send his friend on small errands here and there about town, to keep up appearances of course, but Merlin suspected that Arthur took a bit too much joy out of his continued ability to order the warlock around. Merlin made it a point to leave him some magical gift to remember him by on such occasions, his particular favorite being a toad that multiplied every time Arthur touched it. His days were spent as they always had been, serving Arthur in whatever the king desired and his secret remained safe as long he did so.

Arthur spent his evenings with Guinevere and Merlin was dismissed to spend the time as he wished. He didn't mind his dismissal in the slightest for his evenings were spent with Awen who had found a childish delight in the newness of the world around her. They spent many nights exploring the numerous hidden caves and twisting rivers they came across in their adventures. She continually astounded him with her ability to move silently and ghostlike through the tree's and they had made a game of him attempting to find her. During the day, while Merlin was away playing servant, the Fair Folk woman had taken to either learning whatever she could from Gaius's numerous collection of books or watching intently as the knight's fought in the yard attempting to incorporate their unique fighting style with her own.

Strangely, the people of Camelot had accepted the woman without much hesitation though she would never be invited for tea. Arthur had explained, as best he could, that Awen came from far across the sea, which, according to Fair Folk legend wasn't entirely untruthful. As far as the people knew the woman was just as mortal as the rest of them and Merlin frequently wondered what their reaction was going to be upon learning the truth.

"Merlin," Arthur said seriously, bringing the young man back to the present. "I want you to know that, no matter what happens today, you have my full support."

"I know," Merlin said softly. "I just—this is it, isn't it? There's no going back."

"Would you want to," Arthur asked curiously, head cocking to the side like one of his hunting hounds when given an unknown command.

"No, in my heart I know this is the right course of action, but—"

"It doesn't make it any less terrifying," his king guessed. "I know how you feel, Merlin. A lot is riding on this meeting going well the greatest being your safety. The knights will be with you every step of the way. They are at your disposal, at least until we know which way the dice is going to fall."

"Thank you," Merlin said softly. "I can't tell you how long I've waited for this, Arthur. For so long I could only wish for it, but now that it's actually here, it almost feels like a dream."

"Pray that it stays that way," the king replied grimly. "You have enough nightmares as it is."

His friend was referring to the drama that took place almost nightly in the warlock's mind. Merlin had almost been overtaken by an entity of darkness so powerful it nearly ripped his mind to pieces. It had taken the form of those most important to him, the most common entity being his king and had tortured him savagely. It was only through the efforts of both Arthur and the woman he now loved that he hadn't been killed. For almost a week afterwards Merlin could barely stand his king's presence, let alone his touch, but together, they had worked through it enough that the warlock barely minded it. He still found himself flinching at too sudden movements and wasn't fond of being touched by others, but he could deal with those issues as they came along. The nightmares he experienced, however, were a different story.

They often came without warning and though he'd learned to expect them he still found himself surprised at the vehemence in which they struck. Oftentimes, he would wake up screaming, covered in sweat, and shaking uncontrollably. Even though he and Awen rarely spent a night a part from each other the young woman would have to spend almost an hour trying to calm him enough to allow sleep to overtake him once more. His sleepless nights affected him deeply and it was extremely rare to see the young man without the telltale shadows beneath his eyes. He would get agonizing headaches quite regularly, but he didn't know whether this was from lack of sleep or if it had something to do with the entity that had previously taken up residence in his mind.

Arthur was extremely sensitive to his friend's condition and while Merlin appreciated the concern he also found it irritating at times. He felt weak every time Arthur ordered him to rest his eyes until whatever condition plagued him that day was taken care of, but bit his tongue instead of saying something that could offend his friend. He'd found himself accepting Gwain's offer to join him at the tavern more often if only for the dreamless sleep the alcohol provided him. Not that he told Arthur of this, of course. He'd only recently escaped the reputation for being a shameless drinker who often spent nights at the tavern and didn't particularly care to be known as such once more.

Merlin smiled slightly at his king and nodded, fully aware of Arthur's eyes carefully studying his face for signs of distress. Seeing none or perhaps choosing to deal with it later, the man turned away to adorn his head with the simple, undecorated metal crown he wore when dealing with matters of court. If the king had his way he would have tossed the useless piece of metal out the window by now, but tradition insisted that it remain planted firmly on his brow.

"Well," the man sighed, opening his chamber doors and greeting his assembled knights with a nod. "The moment of truth is upon us, Merlin. Shall we?"

Merlin nodded and followed his sire down the hall, the knights closing around him with practiced precision. Gwain grinned at him, flipping his boyishly brown hair out his face and winked in a conspiratory act of friendship. Merlin smiled back though his stomach was trying to claw its way up his throat. Leon, who was behind him, squeezed his shoulder in a gentle, reassuring way and as they walked he received other small gestures from the knights around him. He was grateful for their loyalty and decided he would find a way to repay them somehow. That it, if everything went according to plan.

They reached the courtroom doors quicker than Merlin had planned and he imagined the giant oak doors looming over him as fate who would judge whether the warlock was worthy of its attention. Swallowing the lump in his throat Merlin followed Arthur into the room where the members of the royal court stood waiting to decide his future.

They stood in groups of two or three, all talking animatedly with each other in their resplendent robes of green, blue or purple. They stopped upon Arthur's entry and made no effort to hide their stares, watching in confusion as Merlin was ushered to a chair on Arthur's right hand side.

"Sire," one asked questioningly, obviously wondering if his king had gone mad. "What is the meaning of this? He's just a servant."

"Merlin has been anything but a servant for a long time," Arthur replied in measured tones, never wavering from his confident expression. "We have much to decide today, Yamish and Merlin will be a key figure in these proceedings. Do you have an issue with this?"

"No sire," Yamish sighed obediently. "I have no concerns."

"Good," Arthur said quietly before turning to face the rest of the court who had taken up their chosen positions around the table. "Does anyone else have something to say about Merlin's presence here? If so, say it now."

Not a single person spoke up but Merlin could feel their stares, some openly hostile while others were merely curious. He shifted uneasily in his seat and Arthur, sensing his friend's distress, put a comforting hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently before releasing him again. If any of the court members noticed the king's small display of affection none commented on it, though Merlin suspected they only remained silent out of respect for their king.

"Old friends," Arthur said, voice strong and commanding. "I have called this meeting today to discuss a concern that has come to my attention in recent months. For over two decades now we have believed that magic has no place within our lives and that those who use this power are nothing more than evil."

Merlin squeezed his eyes shut, attempting to shut out the alarmed expressions on the majority of the room's faces. He wished fervently that Gaius had been allowed to take part in these proceedings, but the physician was not a member of the royal court and Arthur figured it would be prudent to keep from offending the judges any more than they had to.

"Today," Arthur continued. "I have come to tell you that I believe we were wrong in this assumption. I believe that—"

"What," Yamish snarled, rising from his chair, his numerous chins quivering in disbelief. "You cannot be serious, my lord. I believed such tricks beneath you."

"Sit down," Arthur replied stonily, continuing only when the noblemen quelled beneath his gaze, sitting his ample bottom back on the chair. "I can assure you that this is no trick. I understand the shock you all must be feeling, but rest easy knowing that I have not come to this decision lightly."

"My lord," another man whispered, his wheezy voice fitting perfectly with his willowy figure and waifish white beard. "I do not mean to be rude, but I do not understand what could have possibly brought on this change of heart. Whether it is right or wrong I cannot say, but it seems rather unexpected."

"True enough," the king said, smiling reassuringly at the old man. "What would you say, Sir Rowan, if I told you that I had evidence that magic wasn't what we previously thought it was?"

"I would say show it, my lord, and let us decide for ourselves."

"Excellent notion," Arthur grinned, obviously pleased with the man. "I plan to do just that. Merlin, will you rise please?"

Merlin, unable to keep his eyes closed any longer, stood shakily and faced his king. Arthur winked at him and Merlin was so surprised by the gesture that he couldn't stop the small snort of amusement that escaped his throat. Arthur immediately rolled his eyes and frowned at him, but the warlock could see the gleam of amusement in his friend's gaze. He motioned his head in the direction of the court and Merlin reluctantly turned to face them, aware of the way his hands shook.

"Um," he squeaked out.

"You didn't tell us the evidence would be delivered by a mouse," a man with wiry red hair boomed out, laughing at his own cleverness. The rest of the court soon followed and Merlin felt himself coloring.

"Hush," Arthur ordered. "The next man who laughs will be escorted from the room, is that clear?"

The laughter ceased as abruptly as it had started though Merlin could tell the red haired man was none too pleased by this fact. The warlock squeezed his hands into fists and alternated between tightening and releasing them, a trick he'd learned from Gaius when his anxiety threatened to overtake him. He took three deep breaths then faced the small crowd once more, new resolve pushing his stomach back where it belonged.

"Many of you know me," he said, voice nowhere near as confident as Arthur's, but not cracking with strain either. "I have served Arthur…I mean, King Arthur for nearly ten years now and have come to view him as…as a just and fair king."

"Friend," Arthur interrupted, eyes daring anyone to correct him. "You can be honest, Merlin. We are friends."

"Friends," Merlin repeated quietly, touched at Arthur's confession and grateful for the protection it provided him. "King Arthur and I have been friends for a long time, but I must confess that, until recently, I had not been entirely honest with him."

The court members stared at him expectantly, intrigued in spite of themselves. Merlin found the words he was looking for, but they seemed stuck and he remained silent, fully aware of their growing impatience, even as he worked at the lump in his throat.

"Merlin," Arthur whispered from beside him, eyes blazing with something akin to pride and perhaps affection. "You can do this. I'm right here beside you. Nothing bad is going to happen."

Merlin really hated when Arthur chose to tempt fate in such a brazen, unconcerned manner. Things rarely went according to plan when he did so and the warlock suspected that fate, being the fickle mistress that she was, took great pleasure in proving him wrong. In any case, his friend's promises of safety might have had more meaning had Arthur's hands been resting anywhere but on the pommel of his sword, fingers flexing repeatedly against its smooth handle as they prepared for a fight.

"Get on with it, boy," Yamish growled, risking a defiant glance at his king.

Arthur raised his eyebrows at the man and he immediately raised his hands in a signal of defeat as he realized just how out of his league he was. The king narrowed his own eyes, assuring the man that their silent discussion on his insolence was not going to be forgotten so easily, before turning his attention back to his floundering manservant.

The young man quailed at the number of expectant eyes staring at him and before he realized what he'd done he shouted, "I'm a warlock!"

Arthur's eyes widened fractionally, clearly surprised that his friend had gone with such a bold approach after they had repeatedly discussed easing them in to the idea. Merlin shrugged apologetically at his king and smiled sheepishly.

The court had gone silent after Merlin's outburst and for a brief moment the warlock believed he'd braved the worst of it. Then the shouting began.


	2. Chaos Rising

**Author's Note: **_Chapter two please REVIEW! Yes, I did that on purpose._

Arthur watched in utter amazement as his courtroom erupted into chaos, angry voices rising in a cacophony of sound. He couldn't help but think how completely useless their shouting was. It wasn't like the king could actually make out any of their objections. He paid little attention to them, turning instead to watch his manservant who had his eyes shut tightly as if he could make their fury disappear if he couldn't see them. The man's fist clenched convulsively, a way of relieving stress that Arthur had become far too familiar with over recent months.

The king almost went to comfort his friend but before he could do so he caught Yamish stalking steadily towards the young warlock. Merlin, completely oblivious to the threat, kept his eyes firmly shut.

"I'll slay the bastard who enchanted you to say such blasphemies," the large man growled, pulling a stocky sword from a belt hidden by his enormous gut.

Arthur barely had time to maneuver himself in front of Merlin before the man swung his blade in a downward sweep that would have cleaved the warlock in two had the king's own sword not intercepted it. Even as they met Arthur swept his blade down and around, twisting Yamish's sword hand until he was forced to drop his weapon. Merlin, finally opening his eyes to face the threat, backpedaled in alarm, arms pin-wheeling in the air as, in his haste, he almost fell over his chair. Arthur reached out a hand to steady him even as he raised his blade to press dangerously against the nobleman's throat.

The shouts had abruptly stopped when the other court members became aware of the scuffle that had taken place while they were arguing. They all watched him, the fury written all over his face keeping them silent.

"Try that again," Arthur muttered dangerously. "And it will be your head on the chopping block, is that clear?"

The man was breathing heavily, eyes darting from the sword pointed at his throat to Arthur, fear and rage fighting for dominance in his gaze. Arthur found he cared very little and waited patiently for the man to, once again, admit defeat. It didn't take very long. The man nodded slightly, wincing as the edge of Arthur's sword pricked his neck and the king immediately backed off, lowering his weapon but not putting it away.

"I am not, as Yamish so eloquently put it, enchanted," Arthur muttered, voice still low and threatening. "I owe Merlin my life as do all of you and I demand that he's given the respect he deserves. Any violence against him will be met with a swift punishment."

The nobleman didn't seem to have anything left to say so Arthur gave a brief nod, indicating to the foul man that he could take his seat. He did so reluctantly and Arthur was not going to forget this man's disrespect. He may be a more lenient king than most, but he was still a king and his authority was still the law. As distasteful as he found it sometimes Arthur was forced to show his hand and knew, without a doubt, that Yamish would be a prime example if there ever was one.

Merlin, pale as ever and obviously shaken, stepped a little closer to him, unaware of the disdainful stares he was receiving as he did so. Arthur felt a stab of sympathy for the young man, knowing that his anxiety must be almost overwhelming to him. The warlock swallowed visibly, shaking his head slightly, and when he looked back at the assembled crowd his eyes shone with defiance.

"I understand your concern," he said calmly, even though his fists continued to release and tighten without warning, "You have been taught many things about magic that would make anyone afraid, but what you were told was a gross misrepresentation of what sorcery is."

"How are we to know that you have not, as previously assumed, enchanted our king," a blond, pretty faced man named Gregor said.

"I'll vouch for him," Leon said suddenly. "He has the trust of King Arthur's personal guard. Each and every one of us knows of his gifts and has accepted them, as you should."

The gentle knight, having said his piece, calmly faded back against the wall, and smiled briefly at Merlin. The warlock answered his grin in kind and Arthur watched as the convulsive flexing of his fists slowed slightly.

"This proves nothing," the red haired man known as Sir Ewan shouted, fist banging against the table so loudly that Merlin flinched. "He could have enchanted all of you."

"Tell me Ewan," Arthur said, amused. "If you believe that Merlin has enchanted myself and my entire group of knight's would it not be easier for him to simply enchant you as well? Hell, why not enchant the whole kingdom and make it so he faces no opposition at all."

Ewan's face turned as bright red as his hair and he looked away, disgusted. Merlin fidgeted once more and continued only when Arthur gestured for him to do so.

"I—I can only ask that you give me a chance," the warlock whispered. "I won't force you to listen nor will I force you to accept what I am. All I ask is that you remember the man I was before you knew my secret. I have never shown anything but devotion to Arthur and I don't mean to change that."

"I say give him a chance," Sir Rowan wheezed out, shooting Merlin an encouraging smile. "The boy hasn't done any harm though he's had plenty of chances to do so. The least we can do is hear him out."

"Agreed," said Gregor loudly. "Perhaps there is merit to what he says and perhaps there isn't. The only way to discover the truth of the matter is to hear him speak."

"I will not allow him to plant ideas within my head," Yamish snapped and several men around him nodded in agreement. "I'll cut out the monster's tongue before I let him blind me from his wickedness."

"I'm not a monster," Merlin snapped as rage lent him courage. "Your idea of what constitutes a monster is ridiculous and frankly, it's a bit childish."

Arthur winced at his servant's audacity but couldn't help be a bit amused. His friend could certainly be a force of nature when he wanted to be.

"Childish," Yamish roared, rising from his seat once more. "You'll learn to show respect for your betters boy, even if I have to beat it into you."

Arthur would have beaten the man to a pulp if Merlin hadn't taken action before he could do so. The young man's eyes flashed gold and Yamish sat back in his seat with a grunt, eyes widening in surprise as he did so.

"I do not like to be threatened," Merlin said softly. "I do not wish to use my gifts against any of you, but do not mistake my reluctance for weakness. I will defend myself if I am forced to."

The warlock looked up at the crowd with an unreadable expression on his face.

"When I first came to this place," he continued, voice soft but powerful all at the same time. "I expected to find a new home. I wanted, more than anything, to be able to be myself, free of judgment and misguided hatred, but what I found was exactly the opposite. I had no intentions of making a home in a place where I lived in constant fear of discover, despite the fact that I had no choice in what I was, just as a child has no control over the color of hair they receive or whether or not they have freckles."

"Destiny, however, has a plan that no man could escape even if they wanted to. It was destiny that brought me here to Camelot and it was destiny that forced Arthur and I together. I lied to him and to many of those I hold most dear because I was afraid, at the possibility of dying of course, but I was more afraid of people's hatred, however unwarranted it may be."

"The things I can do can be wondrous and could help those in need. I will not tell you that there is not a terrifying side to power for that would be a lie, but is that not true of most things? A sword can be used for purposes considered to be both good and evil, but people wield them all the same. I only ask for the same chance. There will be those who do not use it properly, but no worse than now. And we can make new laws that deal with the practice of dark magic."

Arthur was impressed with his friend and his calm words. He'd always figured the man was capable of such elegance in the way that he spoke, after all, it was Merlin who usually wrote his speeches.

"You ask us to trust you," Ewan said softly. "But how do we know that you aren't working for Morgana?"

"Believe me Sir Ewan," Merlin said icily. "Morgana is no friend of mine nor is she very happy with me. After all, it was I who stopped her from overtaking Camelot all three times."

The room drew in a collective breath of shock, whispers buzzing like angry bees. Merlin waited calmly for them to finish, smiling slightly at Arthur who knew that the young man was exhausted. Awen had reported to him earlier that the young man's nightmares had come one after the other last night with hardly a reprieve between them. He no sooner fall back to sleep after waking from one that he would arise, screaming, from another.

"If it helps make your choices easier," Arthur said abruptly. "You should also know that he stopped the dragon from attacking Camelot, saved my life while vanquishing the sorceress Nimueh, and stopped me from making some rather life altering decisions while I actually was enchanted."

"Arthur makes it sound much more heroic than it was," Merlin said, blushing profusely.

"It was heroic," Arthur insisted. "Listen, I understand that what I'm asking you to do goes against everything you've been taught to believe. I believe, however, that magic can help more than it can hinder. I've seen the things Merlin can do and I trust him without a doubt in my mind. You have trusted me, have you not?"

There is a murmur of agreement from most everyone from around the room and Arthur is grateful his question of loyalty hadn't backfired on him.

"Then trust me in this," the king continued, trying not to sound like he was begging but still portraying his feelings on the matter. "Trust me to make the right decision and trust that I know what's best for my kingdo—"

"Sire," yelled a young squire Arthur had never seen before, bursting through the courtroom doors, either unaware of the importance of the meeting or so flustered he didn't care. "Urgent news, sire."

"It can wait," Arthur replied tersely. "Our meeting is not yet over."

"Sorry sire," the young boy said, shaking his head. "Gaius said that you'd want to know about his, my lord. He said it was urgent and that it pertained to both you and Emrys."

Merlin's head jerked up, worry clear in his expression. He came to stand next to the boy, reading the note over his shoulder, despite the boy's attempts at hiding its contents from him. Eventually the young warlock became so frustrated with the squire's movements that he plucked the parchment from the boy's hands when he least expected it.

Arthur waited impatiently as Merlin's eyes scanned the sheet, his face paling as he did so.

"Arthur," he croaked looking up at his king in horror. "It's Morgana, sire. She's been spotted marching towards Camelot with an army of Shadow Spirits following close behind her. She'll be here in three days time if she maintains the speed she's currently at."

Arthur snatched the paper from his friend's hands reading the same message Merlin had just relayed to him. He crushed the parchment in his hands in anger before letting it tumble to the floor.

"Shadow spirits," he asked, surprised at how dull his voice sounded.

"Think of them as demons, sire. But worse."

"Merlin," Arthur said quietly. "I hope you've got some tricks up your sleeves because we are going to need you now more than ever."

"I'll do my best, sire."

"That's all I can ask of you," Arthur said gently, before turning to face his nervous assembly. "Gentleman, you'll have to excuse us, we have a war to prepare for."

And with that he turned on his heels and strode out the door, trying not to betray how his heart was clenching in fear. Merlin put a reassuring hand on his shoulder as they walked, shadowed closely by the knights.

"Look at the bright side, Arthur," the young man smiled. "At least this way I can finally tell Morgana who I am. Can you imagine the look on her face when she finds out that I'm Emrys?"

Arthur laughed, shaking his head slightly.

"Wait for me will you," he asked. "I want to be there to see it. Do you think you can take her, Merlin?"

"Arthur," the young man replied, eyes growing dark with barely contained fury. "Morgana and I have a score to settle and this time only one of us is walking away."

"Better win then," Arthur murmured as he reached his chambers.

"I plan to," Merlin replied with such conviction that Arthur felt shivers up and down his spine.

This was one of many moments that the king was glad he wasn't an enemy of the warlock standing before him. Over the next few days Arthur would come to realize just how glad he could be.


	3. Evil is as Evil Does

**Author's Note: **_Sorry it has been so long you guys! This is kind of how it is going to be from now on because I am just so busy! I have work, school, and am volunteering at the Veteran's Hospital. It's way fun, but oftentimes I am so exhausted when I get home that I simply crash. I hope you guys continue to stay with me in spite of this. I promise to try and make it worth your while. Anyways, here is Chapter 3. It is a little dark, but I hope you like the end. PLEASE REVIEW!_

If one were to ask Morgana the precise moment she'd crossed the line from a confused and suppressed warlock to a powerful force of devastation she would not be able to answer with any certainty. Even after the year she had spent with her sister Morgause she had not been as full of hatred and rage as she was now.

At first, her goals began and ended with Uther and extended no further. She had not hated her half brother, if anything she felt pity for the man who so blindly trusted his tyrannical father as if the man were a god. She had felt even less animosity towards Arthur's oafish servant, especially since the man had assisted her on more than one occasion. And Guinevere…well, up until the moment Morgana learned of Gwen's future the servant woman had remained a friend to her. Her only plan, at the time, was to bring magic back into the world and force Uther to feel the same terror and pain she herself had felt while doing so.

She knew without a doubt that the year she had spent learning of her gifts and honing them to perfection was the happiest time in her life. She had laughed and smiled with people so much like her that they became the only family she ever needed. She didn't think that the bitter rage she was constantly afflicted with began there, but sometime after that…perhaps with a certain servant in the service of her annoying half-brother.

Yes, Merlin was the cause of everything and oh, how she hated him. He was the pebble within her shoe that, no matter how many times she thought she removed it, kept coming back to pain her even more than before. The fact that he continued to remain so damn loyal to Arthur only enraged her further. The man was weak and if Emrys had not interfered as often as he had he would have been crushed beneath her feet by now, him and his servant.

The thought of Emrys brought a familiar shudder of fear that she attempted to hide from the weary soldiers behind her. She didn't want to seem weak to these men and not just because they had put their faith in her as a leader. To be honest, the assorted druids, sorcerers, and common men that were arranged in sloppy ranks behind her, feet crunching the ground in an unsteady march, were simply a backup plan.

What Morgana truly feared was the one hundred Shadow Spirits that lurked somewhere ahead of their ragged army. They were a force of evil beyond anything that Morgana could begin to understand. The creatures were not fueled by any emotion or cause other than the sadistic enjoyment at causing pain and destruction wherever they went. Morgana hated them.

She had first heard of the creatures from an old Druid woman she had met while seeking out men who would be willing to fight against the powerful nation of Camelot and its unlawful king. Surprisingly the selection of men had not been as small as she had believed it would be and she quickly raised the army behind her, but knew it would not be enough to overtake the kingdom.

It was her desperation that had caused her to listen to the old woman, having briefly considered ignoring her all together. The Druid woman told her of a dark and dangerous place, deep within the earth, that imprisoned creatures of such power that whole cities had fallen at the mere sight of them. Morgana had asked where such a place could be found, but the woman had refused to tell her.

Frustrated, Morgana had begun searching for a way to free these spirits of darkness and use them to brutally tear Arthur from his throne. She had taken steps within her quest of power that she had previously abhorred and detested. Even now, the thought of what she had done froze her insides and forced bile to rise in her throat.

In the end, however, she had gotten the information she sought. The entrance to the world the old Druid woman had spoken of could be found on a mountainside far in the West. The doorway was a mile wide fissure in the earth, rock splitting open like a jagged wound, foul smelling steam and fire rising from its depths. She had felt a terror so sharp that, for a moment, she had considered throwing herself over the side of the steep cliffs in order to escape whatever lurked within the chasm. One man, a young Druid who had sworn his life to protect hers, had done precisely that. They had collected his broken body on the way back down, but the young man had never been given the chance to be laid to rest. The Shadow spirits consumed him before they could do so.

Morgana had thought she would be prepared to do what she would have to in order to gain their power, but after the deed had been done the only thing she could feel was a crushing guilt. She had brought one hundred of her strongest supporters, choosing not to inform them of the fate that awaited them at the top of the mountain. They had promised to sacrifice their lives for her and would do just that, though not in the manner they had intended.

The Shadow Spirits required a living host in order to walk upon the earth and she would provide them with one. It would kill them, of course, but at the time she had been willing to make that sacrifice if it meant having Arthur and Merlin's corpses at her feet. Some of the men had tried to flee back down the mountain as the terror that had previously sickened her gripped them as well. She had stopped them with a flash of magic, freezing them into place while they stared at her, eyes rolling in fear.

The others had shuffled nervously around, searching in vain for the reason behind their mindless terror. Morgana had not waited for anymore of them to desert her and let the words that would call the spirits forth cascade from her lips, sounding strangely dirty to her ears.

Nothing had happened, at first. She had waited with baited breath for a moment then turned with a gasp as something black and shapeless rose from the depths of chasm. Though the sun was shone brightly in the sky above no light seemed to pierce the entity before her, instead swallowing its rays as if their destruction fueled its power.

"Mortal woman," the shadow rasped, voice harsh and gargling. "You have raised us from our prison in the hopes that we will serve you, have you not?"

Morgana could not find her voice for a long time. She simply stared, eyes wide in disbelief and terror, as the shadow undulated and writhed before her. Her small band of sacrificial warriors might have fled with her unable to stop them had the thing before her not stopped time.

"Speak," the shadow hissed. "I will not ask again, mortal. If you do not wish to use your lips to tell me what it is you seek I will happily take them from you."

"Camelot," Morgana gasped out, the demon's threat spurring her to take action. "I called you to…to…help me…help bring Camelot to its knees."

"Small price," the spirit muttered, writhing more wildly than before, as if the promise of violence excited it. "And your terms?"

"My terms," Morgana had asked, voice shaky with fear. "What terms?"

The demon laughed and Morgana flinched back from it, disturbed to hear such sadistic mirth from something without form.

"Little woman," it had laughed. "You are the master of our forms as long we serve you. We obey your words…to a point."

"A point?"

"You will not deny us what is rightfully ours," the shadow spat. "No order can keep us from it."

"It," Morgana had asked, nausea threatening to overtake her.

"Blood," the demon purred, relishing the sound of the word on its lips. "Blood and death, mortal woman. That is our price."

"You will have all of Camelot at your disposal," Morgana had whispered. "You may feed on any who defy me."

The creature undulated jerkily and Morgana got the strangest feeling that the demon was amused with her though she didn't know why.

"We will destroy Camelot," it said after a moment. "Did you bring the mortal flesh we require as payment?"

Morgana gestured shakily behind her and the demon howled in twisted hunger.

"My brothers and I agree to your terms, witch," the thing had hissed and with a screech of pleasure it fell upon the nearest man, its cry a signal of attack to the rest of the demon horde. They sprang forth from the chasm, shadowy forms shaping themselves into inky replicas of men, claws that, despite their ghostly appearance, looked wickedly sharp.

Had Morgana known what to expect she would have ended her own life rather than go through with it. The demons had set upon her men like lions, ripping great chunks of flesh from them with their claws. Morgana shut her eyes and covered her ears as the screaming began and did not open them again until she'd felt icy hands gripping her arm and roughly pulling her to her feet.

She opened her eyes and flinched back, barely stifling a cry of horror. Morgana could not tell who the man had been before the demon had taken control. His face was torn beyond recognition though no blood seemed to have spilled. The demon inhabited man's eyes were glazed with death and the corpse moved jerkily, each movement unbelievably fast and graceful despite its nature.

"Was this not what you expected," the demon whispered, using the man's deformed jaw to rasp out the words. Something black and foul spilled from it's lips and Morgana fought the urge to vomit.

She found that she could not look at them and suddenly the enormity of what she had done hit her, doubling her over as she coughed up her breakfast from that morning. The demons had watched her calmly and Morgana was sure that a few of them even took pleasure in her obvious misgivings.

She had not been able to speak more than a few words for days after the events upon the mountain. The living men within her army had quelled at the sight of their once human brethren, but she had eventually convinced them that they had willingly sacrificed themselves for their cause, guilt squeezing her belly like a vice as she did so. Even with her assurances the men would not travel with the demons, but Morgana found that her shadowy allies cared little for the men's opinions. They preferred to scout ahead or so they said.

There was no doubt in Morgana's mind, or anyone else's for that matter, that scouting was not all they were doing. Every once in awhile the group of travelers would hear an agonized scream from somewhere far ahead of them and each time Morgana felt the gorge rise in her throat. Each of her soldier's steps would falter and they would follow the sound with their eyes, knowing that someone had been brutally murdered in order to feed the demon's perverse appetite.

Morgana ordered them to cease their mindless brutality, but the demon called Azarath, their leader in some way, only laughed at her request.

"I told you," it hissed through its broken mouth. "You will not deny us what is rightfully ours."

"This is cruel," she had screamed. "This is not what I wanted!"

The demon had moved so suddenly that Morgana had no time to muster up an order to stop him. Its fingers curled cruelly around her throat and it shoved her violently against the trunk of a tree, lips curling back from rotting teeth.

"This is what happens when little girls fool with forces they do not understand," it had hissed, breath foul enough to make her gag. "The blood is on your hands, little mortal. We feed at your request."

"No," she had gasped out around the crushing force of his hand. "I order you to—"

Azarath crushed the words from her throat with a brutal squeeze of his fingers. The demon men behind her laughed wheezily.

"Not in this," Azarath whispered, voice silky and dangerous. "We will do as we promised, little woman. Camelot will be crushed beneath our power and you will be the victor. How we accomplish your task is not your decision. We do as we please."

The demon had released her and stared at her for a long time. The woman felt naked and dirty beneath its probing gaze and she found tremors soon overtaking her body.

"The mortal does not like our methods," Azarath said quietly. "Perhaps she is right. We should give her a token of our loyalty, should we not? Something to assure her that we have repented."

Something in the way the demon said the words sent fear squirming in her belly, but she had been rendered speechless. Azarath had turned from her, facing his small legion with a broken, sadistic grin.

"Come," he said. "Let us find a gift worthy of our mortal master, hmm?"

They had left her then and it had taken more than an hour for Morgana to find the strength to rise and return to camp. She wished she hadn't.

Her army, the men she had promised to return to their wives and children lay dead in giant piles all around her. They had been ripped open and brutally murdered in cold blood by the demons who stood, covered in blood, and smiled at her with rotting lips.

Morgana fell to her knees with an agonized cry, retching through her tears. The demons watched her quietly until she had run out of tears and she merely jerked as her body continued to try and sob out her pain and guilt.

Azarath cupped her chin, fingers wet with blood, in an almost gentle manner, looking at her with unreadable eyes. She jerked her head away from him, retching again, and trying to furiously scrub the blood from her face.

"A gift," the demon said softly. "A token of our loyalty. You will not need them, mortal woman. We will provide you with what you seek."

"No," she groaned low in her throat. "I didn't want this.."

"Whether you did or didn't matters little to me," Azarath hissed. "Know this, mortal woman. The tortures we have committed here will pale in comparison to those we will wreak upon Camelot."

"I'll stop you," Morgana hissed out, fury rising in her.

The demon cocked its head at her, bones grating in its broken neck. It seemed to study her for a long time before nodding and grinning softly.

"Do what you wish," it hissed at her. "You have given us an order and we will follow through, with or without you by our side."

"Kill her," one demon spat. "Eat her insides."

"No," Azarath snapped, raising a blood covered hand to bring his compatriot to a halt. "She raised us from our prison and as long as she does not lay a hand against us she is to be unharmed."

The demon snapped its hand out, gripping Morgana's hair and tipping her head back.

"But know this," it whispered dangerously. "Make a move against us and I will not hesitate to tear your pretty head from your body."

It roughly released her, snapping her head to the side and when she looked up again they were gone. She couldn't find any strength to stand and so she merely curled around herself and gratefully passed in unconsciousness.

She woke to the smell of decaying corpses. She stared around her, stunned and numb, at the destruction and death she had inadvertently caused. This had not been her plan. She had not wanted this nor would she wish it on anyone, even her greatest and most hated enemies.

She had to stop them, but she had no resources at her disposal and no army to defend her. She had taken the final step into darkness and now all she wanted was the light. She wanted to laugh and smile like she had before, but knew that those days were over for her. She doubted whether she would ever smile again.

It was a with a heart heavy with guilt and horror that Morgana set about burning the bodies of her loyal soldiers, hoping that despite their gruesome ends they would enjoy a peaceful afterlife.

After she had finished her task she looked far to the east where Camelot stood unaware of the danger approaching it. She knew that the demons would need time to gain enough power to end the kingdom as promised, but Morgana suspected that it would only be a short time. A few days, a week at best, but nothing more. Certainly not enough time for Camelot to come up with an effective defense, unless…unless they knew what was coming.

Morgana knew what she had to do, but dreaded doing it. She doubted whether Arthur would believer her and fully expected to be executed upon arrival, but she found that this thought did not upset her as greatly as she thought it would.

Even if her half brother refused to listen at least she would die with the knowledge that she had tried, however futile the effort may have been, to save them. Perhaps the gods would grant her mercy, but she doubted she was beyond even their forgiveness now. She could only hope that Arthur would at least listen to her.

And so, Morgana mounted her horse and rode with a speed and determination she had not felt before. She headed east, closer to the land she both loved and hated. She headed towards the brother she had betrayed, the friend she had attempted to kill, and the woman that had served her with loyalty and love only to be hated for it. For the first time in over two years Morgana wondered if she had been wrong, if she had made a mistake.

Whether she had or hadn't mattered very little now because, like it or not, they were joined on a collision course with an evil none of them had imagined possible. What came after was of little consequence. First they had to win and the chances of that were growing slimmer by the second. Perhaps she would die along side Arthur, joined together for the first and last time as brother and sister. Perhaps they would forgive her and they could end their now petty feud. Perhaps they could smile at each other again, trust in each other again, love each other again.

The idea of perhaps was a small comfort to her. But, perhaps was all she had.


	4. A Pendragon Family Reunion

**Author's Note: **_OK folks, here is the second chapter that I am writing tonight. It is going to be quite long so I hope you guys like it. As for the last chapter I hope I get some more feedback from you guys because I was extremely nervous about writing it. It was dark, but I needed it to be to give Morgana a good enough reason to swallow her pride and hatred and return to Camelot. Anyways, PLEASE REVIEW and happy reading._

"I'm sorry," Arthur snapped, staring at the young guard incredulously. "Please repeat what you just said. I don't believe I heard you correctly."

Merlin couldn't help the flash of pity he felt as the young man shuffled nervously, licking his lips in an effort to wet them so he could speak.

"I-I said that the Lady Morgana is…well, she's…she's…."

"Here," Merlin supplied flatly, not at all sure how to react to this bit of news.

First they had been informed that Morgana and a force of a thousand men were steadily making their way towards Camelot with the goal of overtaking her by brute force. Now, however, it seemed that the witch had changed her mind, opting instead to come Camelot by herself waving the white flag. The only thing was that Merlin wasn't sure what her intentions could be, though he was positive they were nothing good.

"Here," Arthur repeated, pacing restlessly in front of his throne. "Why the hell would she come here? What could she possibly hope to find?"

The young guard looked from his agitated king to Merlin obviously unsure whether he was supposed to supply an answer. Merlin shook his head silently and the guard relaxed, blowing a quiet breath out from between his lips.

"Bring her," Arthur said suddenly, turning to fix the guard with an angry glare. "Bring her to me now."

"Arthur," Merlin began, his tone serving as a warning.

"Hush," his king interrupted, glancing at him severely. "I know what I'm doing. Guard, bring the witch to me and warn her that if she tries anything funny she'll be spending the night looking forward to the axe."

The young man saluted his king and strode from the room leaving Merlin and Arthur in silence. Merlin stared at his friend, watching as he attempted to work through his feelings, jaw clenching as rage coursed through him.

Arthur didn't show it often, but Morgana's betrayal had hit him harder than he'd let on. Despite their constant bickering the king had cared a great deal for her and could not, for the life of him, understand what he'd done to anger her so greatly.

"Arthur," Merlin ventured softly, aware that he was standing on shaky ground. "You know those moments when I tell you something is a bad idea and you don't listen?"

His king didn't answer but at least glanced at him and Merlin took this as a sign to continue.

"Don't make this one of those moments," the warlock said earnestly. "This is a trap, Arthur. It has to be!"

"Merlin," Arthur replied, voice thoughtful. "Would you say you are stronger than her? Magically speaking, I mean."

"Well…yes, but—"

"And wouldn't you agree that you have been studying magic far longer than she has?"

"Yes, but—"

"So you would agree that if she tries something you would be fully capable of protecting me?"

"Perhaps, but—"

"Then I have nothing to worry about then," the king finished, grinning wickedly at his friend. "You'll just….smite her or something."

"Smite her," the young warlock repeated. "Arthur, I don't think you really understand how we do—oh, never mind, sire. What I am trying to say is that nothing is a guarantee here, Arthur."

"Merlin, if you are going to speak at least try to make it intelligible, please."

"Right," the warlock sighed. "Idiot proof. Arthur, it isn't like she hasn't betrayed us before and now she has Shadow Spirits at her beck and call."

"The demons," Arthur questioned. "What exactly are these things, Merlin?"

"I don't know much," Merlin told him. "I only caught a glimpse of them when I was…when I was trapped in the Land of Shadow, sire. I asked Gaius what they were exactly and he didn't know, but Kilgarrah says that they are beings of great intelligence and will stop at nothing to fulfill whatever orders they have been given."

His king contemplated what his friend had told him for a long time, studying the doors with great intensity as he became lost in his thoughts. Finally, he turned back to Merlin and sighed.

"You may be right," he said. "But…but what if you aren't?"

"Sire, I—I'll stand by you in whatever you choose."

"Merlin," Arthur chided gently. "I thought we'd gotten past this. If you disagree with me then say so. You aren't my servant anymore."

"I know," Merlin replied, smiling softly. "I just…I want to believe that maybe Morgana wants peace as much as you do, but I have to be realistic."

Arthur cocked his head to the side in an invitation to continue, eyes focused intently on his friend's face.

"She's tried to kill me one too many times, sire. I have a hard time forgiving that."

"Interesting," Arthur said, eyebrows shooting up in surprise. "I would have thought you would be the first to offer forgiveness."

"For anyone else, sire. But not for her."

"I have to know, Merlin. I have to know if she wants the peace that I have longed for these past few years. I don't like fighting with her and if there is a chance—any chance at all—I have to take it. Do you understand?"

"I understand," Merlin said softly. "I just hope you don't come to regret it."

"Trust, Merlin. That is all I ask of you, remember?"

"Yes, I remember."

"Good."

The two men turned as one to face the doors as they creaked open, the woman they'd been speaking of hidden behind a group of four guards. They marched towards them, each one holding a chain in his hand, before stopping at Arthur's feet. They parted and Morgana was forced to her knees, head bowed low in submission.

"Leave us," Arthur said softly, staring at his half sister with tortured eyes.

Merlin sighed audibly and his king turned his head to glare at him.

"Don't look at me like that," Merlin bristled. "If you insist upon dismissing the only protection we have then let it be you she tries to kill. I've been there one too many times myself."

"I've got you as protection," his king replied mildly. "I merely thought you would be man enough for the job. I guess I was incorrect in that assumption."

"Sire," Merlin snapped. "Insulting me is a bad way to go about changing my mind, you know."

"You two have not changed a bit," the young witch rasped from her spot on the floor. Both men stopped to look at her and Merlin felt his magic boiling at the sound of her voice.

She looked up at them, hair hanging in dirty strands around her face. She did not look well and Merlin couldn't help but note the shadows of sorrow written within her eyes though it did little to soften his heart. She had lost weight and looked waifish beneath her ragged, mud splattered dress.

Merlin could feel her power humming around him, but it felt tainted in a way he couldn't put his finger on. It felt oily and thick and it clung to his skin like dirt. He recoiled in disgust, nearly tripping over Arthur's feet as he did so. The king steadied him and looked at him strangely.

"It's all wrong," he coughed out, the feel of it stinging his nose and throat. "Her magic…it's tainted, Arthur."

The witch stared at him in surprise, obviously trying to understand just how he knew such an intimate detail about her, especially when it came to her magical abilities. He met her gaze defiantly, barely controlled anger and hurt simmering in his eyes. Morgana almost immediately looked away from him.

"Arthur," she began turning instead to her half brother.

"King Arthur," the young man corrected coldly. "You will address me with respect, Morgana. You've lost the right to call me by name."

Merlin watched as the young witch attempted to overcome her fury at being treated in such a manner and was surprised when she managed to swallow her pride.

"King Arthur," she said softly, bowing her head.

"Why are you here, Morgana? Come to try your hand at killing me?"

"No, Arthur I—"

"Because you won't be able to, you know. Merlin has more power in his pinky than you do in your whole body."

"Arthur," Merlin snapped in warning. "Enough."

"What," Arthur snapped. "It's true, isn't it? Your magic is five time stronger than hers and—"

"Magic," Morgana gasped, staring at Merlin as if she'd never seen him before. "You have magic?"

"He overestimates my abilities," Merlin informed the witch stonily.

"No, I don't," Arthur said, oblivious to his friends efforts at keeping the extent of his powers secret. "He's the most powerful warl—"

"Arthur," Merlin hissed. "I said enough."

His king shot him a wounded glance, but didn't continue any further in his admiration of his friend. Morgana continued to look at Merlin in astonishment, eyes wide and mouth open in disbelief.

"I never knew," she whispered. "Merlin, why didn't you tell me? We could have helped each other. We could have—"

"Do not think for an instant that my power is anything like yours," Merlin hissed dangerously, heedless of his king's shocked glance. "I have never worked for anything but the good of others and you—you disgraced what magic should represent, Morgana. I am nothing like you."

"No," the woman replied quietly after a long moment. "I suppose you are not."

"Why are you here," Arthur repeated, concerned with his friend's tone.

"To warn you," the witch replied, turning her attention from Merlin to Arthur.

"Warn us of what, Morgana?"

"Of what's coming," she replied, her voice breaking. "Of what I did…"

"Shadow Spirits," Merlin said quietly. "You brought them here. Why?"

"I wanted to use them," Morgana answered, once more staring at Merlin as if he were something confusing to her.

"To destroy us," Merlin hissed.

The witch nodded her head, shame and fear fighting for dominance on her face. Merlin's heart throbbed painfully in his chest as he felt his own terror striving to match hers.

"You lost control, didn't you," the warlock whispered in horror. "You lost control and now you're here to have us help clean up your mess."

"I didn't know," Morgana cried, tears spilling across her porcelain cheeks. "I didn't know what was going to happen—"

"And somehow that makes it alright," Merlin spat. "You of all people should know that forces of darkness can't be bent to your will, Morgana. How could you be so stupid?"

"Merlin," Arthur interjected, putting a comforting hand on the young man's shoulder. "Merlin, calm down. Just…stop, alright?"

"Thank you," Morgana said, turning to him.

"I wasn't doing it for you," Arthur replied, tone as unforgiving as ice.

The witch nodded in understanding, watching Merlin carefully as he attempted to rid himself of the anxiety threatening to overtake him. He clenched his fists and when that failed him he violently shrugged out from under Arthur's arm and began to pace furiously.

"So tell me," Arthur said, fully aware that Merlin's self-control was slowly unraveling. "What happened that suddenly changed your mind?"

"Merlin is right," the young woman whispered. "I lost control, though I am beginning to believe I never had it at all. They killed my men, Arthur. They killed them all just to—just to make a point to me."

"All of them," Arthur gasped. "But, our reports said that you had over a thousand men at your disposal."

"All true," Morgana whispered, tears falling unchecked down her face. "They are all dead now. I didn't know."

Merlin made a disgusted sound in his throat, so filled with fury and horror that he couldn't even speak. He wanted to be as calm as Arthur, but he wasn't blessed with the same ignorance as his king. Arthur maintained a childish belief that Merlin could overcome just about anything with his magic, though the warlock had attempted to dissuade his king from this line of thinking, knowing that his friend would be caught unprepared if his magic failed.

Even now, as Morgana told him of a force that had murdered a thousand men, Arthur didn't seem to be horribly concerned. If anything he seemed excited at putting his new secret weapon into action and Merlin found he was rather resentful at being used in such a way. Nevertheless, Merlin knew the gravity of the situation in which they had now found themselves in and Arthur remained as clueless as ever.

"Say that again," Merlin warned, words finally free again. "And I promise you'll regret it."

"Merlin," Arthur gasped. "What has gotten into you? You don't make threats. That's my job."

"Don't," he said sharply, inwardly wincing as his king stared at him, obviously wounded.

"I'm just saying that you aren't acting like yourself," his king said lamely.

"Arthur," Merlin said gently. "You are trying and I appreciate that, but you don't understand what she's done. Despite your belief in the contrary, I can't fix everything with a magic word and a happy thought. There are forces I have no hope of defeating. I thought you would have realized that after last spring, sire."

"That was different," Arthur argued. "You were dying, Merlin. You aren't dying now…unless you have something you aren't telling me."

"I'm fine," Merlin snapped. "But you still don't understand. I was dying because of what the darkness was doing to me, Arthur. I couldn't fight it. And these things….whatever they are…are far worse than anything I experienced. This isn't a problem we can simply fix, sire."

"He's right," Morgana whispered. "You can't hope to defeat them on your own, Arthur. You are going to need a plan…and a good one."

"How long," Merlin said, turning to her. "How long until they reach us?"

"I can't say for sure," Morgana answered. "A few days. A week at most. They need to gain their strength before they attack, but it will not take long."

"A week," Merlin repeated, paling. "That's not going to be long enough."

"Probably not," Morgana whispered. "But it is all we have."

Arthur had not said a word during their brief exchange and when Merlin turned back to him the warlock was disturbed to see a hopeless desperation within his sovereign's eyes.

"Arthur," he said softly. "Arthur, look at me will you?"

Instead the young king turned his eyes to his sister, the young woman flinching at the intensity of his gaze.

"Why," he rasped out. "What did I do to make you hate me this much, Morgana?"

"I was angry and scared," the woman whispered, head bowing under the weight of her guilt. "I—I hated your father so much and I let it control me, Arthur. I made a mistake."

"A mistake," Arthur repeated numbly. "You made a mistake."

"Arthur," Morgana began, but stopped at the look her brother gave her.

"Don't speak to me," he said harshly, gaze hard and unforgiving. "If you value your life at all you will remain silent, is that understood?"

Morgana nodded mutely, closing her eyes against the hatred clearly visible in Arthur's expression.

"My people's blood stains your hands," Arthur spat. "And all you can tell me is that you made a mistake. That is not good enough, Morgana. It will never be good enough. You…you betrayed me for crimes I didn't commit and blamed me for actions that weren't mine. I thought that I could forgive you, but I can't do it. Not after this."

"I didn't expect you to," Morgana replied softly, ignoring her brother's order of silence. "I do not think I can even forgive myself, Arthur. I only want to help. Please…let me help fix this."

Arthur stared at his sister for a long time, face unreadable, though Merlin noted the tension in his jaw and shoulders. He turned away from her suddenly, running a hand through his hair and sighing loudly.

"Merlin," he said, glancing at his friend. "What do you think?"

"I think we don't have a choice, sire. We need all the help we can get."

"And if she betrays us?"

"It doesn't make sense for her to do so, Arthur. She has nothing to gain from this."

"Our deaths would be a start," his king muttered darkly, but Merlin shook his head.

"You can't rule a kingdom if there is no one to rule," Merlin argued. "From the little I understand about the Shadow Spirits I believe that they will not rest until every citizen of Camelot is dead."

"So you trust her?"

"Hardly, sire. But…given our current situation I believe that exceptions must be made, don't you?"

"It does seem to be the reasonable course of action," Arthur agreed. "Though I detest having to do it."

Merlin didn't reply, but was thinking similar thoughts. This time, however, Merlin had the full range of his power at his disposal and would use it without hesitation if the witch attempted to betray them. They may die, but Merlin would make sure that he took Morgana with him.

"Fine," Arthur said. "Take her to the dungeon, Merlin. Then come speak to me in my chambers."

"Wait," Merlin said. "Why do I have to do it?"

"And here I was thinking you had a brain," Arthur drawled, rolling his eyes at his friend. "You have to do it because you are the only one equipped with the skills to do so."

"You can admit you're scared, sire. I won't tell anyone."

"I am NOT scared, Merlin. And you would to tell. The whole kingdom would know by morning. You can't keep a secret for the life of you."

"I think, if you really dig deep in that pea brain of yours, you will find that I can, indeed keep a secret. Perhaps I would have had more trouble doing so if you hadn't been so dimwitted, but luck was on my side it seems."

"I am not dimwitted, Merlin."

"So you admit that I can keep a secret?"

"No, I never said—"

"Sire, you can't have cake and eat it to, you know. Either I can keep a secret or you are dimwitted."

"Merlin, do you see this crown on top of my head?"

"Of course I do, sire. You wave it front of my face every morning."

"Do you understand the meaning behind it?"

"Unlike some people I know I am not dimwitted, Arthur. It means you're a prat."

"That is one interpretation."

"The only interpretation more like. I know you seem to think it gives you some sort of authority, but honestly, sire, people find it rather presumptuous of you."

"I'm the king, Merlin. It is my right to wear this crown."

"Perhaps, but just because you are something doesn't mean you can wear whatever you want. You have to earn that right, sire."

"Oh, this I have got to hear. How do I earn the right to wear a crown?"

"Well, polishing your own damn boots would be a start."

"But you do such a good job and you seem to enjoy it so much that I would feel rather guilty about taking it away from you. After all, it seems about the only task you can do properly."

Merlin was about to come back at his king with a rather witty, biting reply but was interrupted by a soft cough of impatience from his side. He turned to find Morgana raising her eyebrows in a bemused expression.

"As heartwarming as seeing you two banter like little girls," she said. "Perhaps, one of you would be so kind as to remove my chains. Or I can do it for you if you so prefer."

The young witch stood gracefully, the shackles falling from her wrists and ankles in a heap. Arthur flinched back, pulling Merlin firmly in front of him as if the young man were a shield.

"Not afraid," Merlin snorted. "Right."

"Shut up, Merlin. Go do your job."

The young warlock stared cautiously at his former friend before sighing and walking through the hall, beckoning Morgana to follow him. Suddenly, he got a clear image of her hurling a knife at his back and he dropped behind her, nudging her slightly when she paused. It was a long walk to the dungeons and the warlock was dreading every second of it.

At first Morgana remained silent and Merlin was grateful for the quiet. He didn't know what he would say to her anyways and he certainly didn't trust himself to remain calm and detached. It wasn't long, however, that Merlin's blessed silence was broken.

"You didn't tell me," Morgana whispered from behind him. "Why?"

"I didn't feel like sharing," Merlin snapped. "End of story."

"But—"

"But what, Morgana? Even if you had known I had magic it wouldn't have changed anything."

"You don't know that," Morgana whispered. "I felt so alone, Merlin. If I had known that someone else was like me then maybe I wouldn't have felt so afraid."

"You weren't forced to go down the road you chose," Merlin growled. "You made your decisions and now you have to deal with them."

"We were friends once," Morgana began. "Perhaps with time we can—"

"Stop," Merlin hissed, staring at her in revulsion. "Do not ever make the assumption that you and I can ever be anything but enemies, Morgana. You wanted me dead and was willing to do whatever it took to make that happen. But, surprise surprise, I am not the pushover you thought I was."

"If you hadn't interfered," Morgana snapped, briefly forgetting herself. "Then I wouldn't have had to kil—"

She stopped at the knowing look on his face, watching as he smiled sadly.

"You see," he said softly. "Even now you can't let go of your hatred entirely."

"If you recall," Morgana said coldly. "It was you who tried to kill me first."

"Yes," Merlin replied, lips curving into a sad smile once more. "I did, but not out of hatred or anger, Morgana. I hated myself for a long time, but I've come to terms with what I did and I know that I made the right choice, no matter how hard it was to do."

"The right choice," Morgana cried, appalled. "Killing me was the right choice?"

"If it meant saving everyone else, absolutely. Morguase was using you as a tool to ground her spell and I had no other way to stop it. It was a horrid thing to have to do, but it had to be done."

"You can't honestly believe that," the witch scoffed.

"I do, though whether you can see the truth in that matters very little to me."

"But—"

"I'm done with this discussion," Merlin snapped, glaring at her. "What's done is done, Morgana. There is no use trying to dissect the past, it won't change anything."

Morgana shut her mouth with a snap, but her chin quivered as if she were holding back tears. Merlin sighed and nudged her shoulder indicating she should begin walking once more.

"How long have you had magic," she whispered after a moment.

"Long enough," the young warlock hedged.

"You told Arthur," she said softly and looked back at him in confusion.

"What?"

"You told Arthur about your magic."

"Yes," he said cautiously. "And?"

"He just accepted it? Just like that?"

"No," Merlin sighed, smiling slightly. "Not just like that. There were a lot of things we had to work out, but when you share a bond with someone it becomes much easier to find a way to manage the things you may not like about them. Besides, I am sure the fact that I was dying helped a little."

His smile abruptly fell as he remembered who he was speaking to and he grimaced, a bit alarmed at how easily he'd slipped back into being a friend.

"I thought Arthur would be more like his father," Morgana said quietly.

"Well, he's not. And I would remind you that Uther was your father to."

"No, he wasn't. He was a cruel tyrant, but he was never my father."

"Yes, Uther could be cruel," Merlin replied. "But how are you any better?"

"Excuse me, Merlin?"

"You two are more alike than you think. The same petty need for revenge, the same blind hatred, the same selfish drive to get what you desire no matter whom or what stands in your way. If anyone is different from Uther it would be Arthur."

"Arthur worshiped him," Morgana spat. "He followed him around like a puppy just waiting to undertake some suicidal quest in the hopes that one day Uther would show an ounce of affection towards him. Arthur is predictable because he makes the same decisions his father did."

"And yet," Merlin said softly. "Here I am, alive and well despite my magical abilities. If it had been Uther I would have been ashes in the wind by now."

"He will turn on you, eventually, Merlin. He won't change anything."

"You are wrong about him. He already presented the legalization of magic to the court."

"What," Morgana asked astonished. "That's impossible."

"You know," Merlin said as they descended the dungeon stairs. "I find it amazing that you can think so poorly of him. All he's ever done is care for you though it may have been in his own roundabout way."

"He was Uther's," Morgana whispered. "I couldn't stand him because he reminded me of Uther."

Merlin pursed his lips and nodded briefly to the three bored guards that patrolled the dungeon floors. He led Morgana around a corner and down another flight of stairs until he reached the bottom dungeon, grimy floor awash with distant moonlight.

The straw was clean, unlike what would be found in other cells, and smelled vaguely of horses. Merlin had even placed a little cloth filled mattress within because he believed that everyone deserved at least minor comfort.

"I designed this," he told Morgana, tone expressionless. "Arthur asked me to a few weeks after he found out about my magic. He said he wanted something that would stand up against most spells thrown at it. You can try and unlock the door, but it won't work."

"I won't try," Morgana said softly. "I wasn't lying when I said I wanted to fix the mess I made."

"Maybe you were and maybe you weren't," Merlin replied coldly, walking her into her cell. "I suppose we will soon see."

He made to leave but stopped, turning to face her, eyes glinting with a steely danger.

"The Druids have foretold your destiny, have they not," he asked her, voice colder than he had ever heard it. "From what I understand your demise will be brought around by a man named Emrys and you are powerless to stop it."

"How do you know that name," Morgana whispered, fear causing her words to crack.

"I know Emrys well," Merlin answered. "You might say I know him as well as I know myself. Do you know why that is, Morgana?"

She shook her head mutely and while Merlin took no joy in the threat he was about to issue he also knew the truth of his words.

"Because Emrys and I are one and the same, Morgana. I am the one you fear so horribly."

"No," Morgana gasped out, eyes wide in horror. "You can't be, Merlin. You just…you can't!"

"I can and I am," Merlin replied icily. "Know this, Morgana. If any of the people I love are harmed because of your actions I will not rest until you have paid for their suffering. I abhor violence, Morgana, but do not think I will not use it if I have to. You will not hurt them and if that means I fulfill my role within your life as Emrys then so be it. I will not hesitate."

She stared at him as he closed the thick iron door, eyes wide in shock and disbelief. He met her gaze calmly and she shivered before turning her back to him, choosing to gaze at the moon through the iron bars instead.

Merlin turned the key rather viciously as if he blamed it for the sorrow, guilt, and anger he felt. He quickly made his way back down the hall, but was stopped when Morgana whispered something to him.

"What," he snapped in irritation.

"I'm sorry," she repeated, turning her face towards him. "I'm sorry for everything."

Merlin was quiet for a long time. He wished he could believe her words, but knew that it would be a grave mistake on his part if he did so. The witch had fooled him once and could easily do so again if he wasn't careful.

"Maybe you are," Merlin replied softly. "We'll just have to wait and see won't we?"

She did not say anything more to him and Merlin slowly made his way back up to Arthur's chambers, feet like lead blocks. He was exhausted and had been without sleep for well over a day. He had hoped that he might be able to get some rest, but with the days events fresh on his mind he knew that would be very unlikely.

His lack of sleep gave him a sort of dazed, unfocused feeling and now that he was alone he felt his limbs refusing to move in the ways he wanted them to. Which was a shame, really, for if Merlin had been more aware of his surroundings instead of concentrating entirely on the movement of his feet he might have noticed the corpse like horror rising swiftly from the shadows, claws raised and ready to strike with deadly efficiency.


	5. Sticks and Stones May Break my Bones

**Author's Note: **_Hello beloved readers! I am coming to you from Manhattan at about 4:00 am after a particularly invigorating scavenger hunt in Central Park. In all honesty, it is probably not a very safe excursion and we always end up having to take a taxi back to the apartment but the absolute enjoyment my friends and I get out of the experience make the downsides worth it. We've gotten ourselves into a few rough situations in the past, but this time it was easy peasy lemon squeezy. Anyways, I briefly toyed with the idea of sleep but am way too keyed up for that at this point. 8:00 am class is going to be a horror tomorrow, but it's the price I pay to have some downtime. Here is Chapter 5. Read and REVIEW please and thank you. _

Arthur toyed with the idea of returning directly to his chambers, but found the prospect of explaining the day's stygian events to his wife without first working through them himself rather daunting. Instead he abruptly turned towards the small pair of castle doors that led out into the quaint courtyard housing the practice field the knights used.

The night air was cool and crisp, an immutable sign that winter was fast approaching. The moon reflected off the castle battlements and sent eerie shadows skittering across the grass like leaves in the wind. The dark had never really bothered Arthur before, though he would be lying if he said he'd never seen imaginary terrors lurking within the shadows, but that night seemed different.

He told himself that the horripilation that suddenly seized him had nothing to do with fear and was merely an effect of the day's events. After all, they certainly had not gone to plan. Despite this, the king could not shake the feeling that there was more than simple nerves to the unexplained tremors of fear writhing in his stomach.

Ever the warrior he shook off his feelings of unease and wandered further onto the practice grounds, trying not to jump at the slightest sound. He slid Excalibur from his scabbard, under the pretense that he would take a few swings at one of the practice dummies in order to relieve some of his pent up aggression. He couldn't help but notice, however, that he instantly felt safer with the blade firmly in his grasp.

He stared for a long moment at the dummy that, Arthur was horrified to find, looked remarkably real in the scant light of the prevailing darkness. He shuddered and decided that, for the moment, he wasn't quite up to playing warrior, knowing that if Merlin were with him he would be teased mercilessly.

For a moment Arthur wished he had accompanied his friend down to the dungeons, but quickly shook that line of thinking away. He was a king, dammit! He had seen and done far too many things to be scared of a few shadows, no matter how realistic they might seem.

He blew out a shaky breath and laughed at his own foolishness, before sitting down wearily on one of the many weapons chests scattered about the field. He stared pensively into a small sump where his reflection glittered and rippled along the muddy water's surface.

He had expected the day to be exhausting from the moment he'd woken up with a headache forming just at the base of his skull. Never mind the fact that he'd faced convincing a horrendously biased court that magic should be legal. Obviously, however, fate had decided that the new king didn't have enough on his plate and had thrown, not only his murderous sister, but an army of demons hell bent on his destruction in his path as well.

There was a word his father had used on occasion for such a situation, though the former king had forbidden his son to use it until he'd reached an appropriate age. Arthur still hadn't let the obscenity cross his lips, but considered it now. The situation was perfect for it.

Morgana, he thought with a bitter smile, would be the very definition of such a word. The young king had long ago lost hope that he and the witch would ever be as they were but that night, for the briefest of moments, he had allowed himself to hope. Merlin often told him that his blind faith in the people around him would get him killed, but Arthur rarely paid much attention to the warlock's grumbled warnings. In many ways, the king couldn't believe that his friend, who's sense of loyalty bordered on stupidity, could be as skewed as he was on what Arthur called humanities natural inclination for goodness.

The first time Arthur had told his friend this the young man had gently informed him, though his mocking smile teased him in ways his words could not, that people looked out for themselves. Perhaps they made some exceptions here or there, but as a general rule it was better to remain cautious and stay safe than to trust implicitly and end up with an arrow in the back.

Such an ideology was so unlike his strange companion that Arthur had pondered the reasons behind it for a long time, even going so far as to discuss it with Guinevere on occasion. He'd come to the conclusion that the young man had become jaded after his own faith had been betrayed, though how many times it had taken this to occur he did not know.

In many ways, his friend was correct in the assumption that to trust Morgana would be a foolhardy, if not dangerous act. Yet, the urge remained, planted firmly within Arthur's heart. He wanted to be furious with her, of course, and he was, but it was a fury he was entirely willing to let go if the proper conditions presented themselves.

Despite his craving for a familial connection with the woman, her earlier admission still bothered him. He felt that her response was inadequate to the amount of pain and suffering she had caused, not only to him, but those he held most dear. The very idea that she had tried to murder Guinevere made his blood boil and the thought of Merlin, lying near death after the Serket's sting, left Arthur's heart aching with the loss he might have felt had his friend perished.

The young king felt split and emotions filled him to the brim, counteracting each other until all that was left was an icy numbness. It was moments like this that Arthur wished his father were here. The man was not easy to understand or connect with, but his son had always admired Uther's ability to disengage from a situation and study it as if he had nothing to gain or lose from his decision. The only area in which his father had failed in this had been magic and Arthur shuddered at the thought of how many innocent people the former king had sentenced to death. He'd watched more than a few of Camelot's citizens meet their maker before their time and he often wondered how Merlin could even bear the sight of him, though he'd never told the young man of his thoughts.

Merlin was another cause for concern. The warlock seemed to be a constant area of worry for Arthur, but for once his misgivings had nothing to do with the nightmare that had taken place five months ago, though the consequences of it certainly had a part to play.

Arthur had never seen Merlin as angry as he had been at Morgana. There were a few moments, as brief as they were, that the king actually believed Merlin might harm the woman. He could almost feel the fury rolling off of him in waves. He knew that the young man's lack of sleep had a great deal to do with his loss of control, but the idea of Merlin coldly calculating the demise of another terrified him.

He sighed, using the edge of his sword to draw ripples across the puddle's surface, watching his reflection undulate wildly with the disturbance of the water. Suddenly, a figure appeared in the puddle and Arthur realized with a start that something was coming up from behind him.

He couldn't make out any discerning features at first and opted to act as if he were oblivious to the figures presence, though his hand tightened on his sword. It wasn't until the hairs on the back of his arm rose and goose bumps erupted across his flesh that Arthur felt the first true icy stabs of fear.

The figure moved strangely, a sort of lumbering, hitching walk but came towards him with uncanny speed. It had the general shape of a man, but there were bulges in places that there shouldn't be and for a brief moment the young warrior could see a single orb of yellow where the eye sockets should have been.

The smell reached him next and he nearly gagged, but managed to hold it down lest the motion give him away. The creature, for Arthur knew without a doubt it was not a man, smelled like blood and festering flesh. He recognized it easily after so many years of being an experienced soldier. The thing had almost reached him and Arthur nearly bolted when he saw the creatures human like fingers extend into shadowy claws, but managed to remain still as if he had not yet been made aware of its presence.

The thing reached him and with a guttural snarl raised its claws to swipe him in two. Arthur jerked away from the thing's reach, feeling the creature's blow barely miss connecting with his face. He swung his sword around in a wild counterattack that surely would have knocked its head from its shoulders, but before the weapon could do any damage the demon had moved, spinning around Arthur and hitting him hard in the chest.

He hadn't bothered to don armor and he felt something tear inside of him, blinding pain reaching him seconds after. He crumpled to the dirt though he tried desperately to regain his feet moments after doing so. He attempted to call for help, but his lungs wouldn't work properly and he hacked a mixture of spit and blood into the grass.

The demon, Arthur was sure that was what it was, gripped his ankle and dragged him bodily across the ground before gripping him by the throat and lifting, Arthur's feet kicking uselessly in the air. He came face to face with demon for the first time and would have screamed had there been enough oxygen to do so.

The horror was missing an eye and Arthur could vaguely make out pieces of the man's caved in skull trapped within the socket. The remaining eye was rheumy and had barely missed destruction from whatever had caused the wound on the former man's cheek, splitting it open from brow to jaw. Its hands were cold and stiff, though this seemed to hinder the demon only slightly, if the pressure around Arthur's throat was anything to go by.

He squirmed in the demon's grasp, acutely aware of the icy numbness slowly spreading up his side, though he could barely make out the feel of his shirt growing sticky with blood.

"That's it," the demon hissed, breath foul on Arthur's face. "Struggle, little king. It makes death so much harder for you and so enjoyable for me."

Arthur attempted to pry the creature's hand off of his windpipe and when that didn't' work he clawed at the demon's face, fingers scrabbling at anything he might use to stun or hurt the thing long enough for him to get free. The corpse grabbed his hand and twisted, smiling wickedly as bones crunched.

The young man jerked within its grasp, trying to scream, but unable to get the sound from between his lips as the demons fingers constricted brutally around his throat. Darkness was beginning to overtake him, but still he fought, working through the pain in an effort to live.

"Stop," a cold voice ordered. "Let him go or I'll do to you what I did to your friend upstairs."

Arthur could hardly believe what he was hearing. That voice sounded strangely familiar but his fuzzy, oxygen deprived brain couldn't remember why. Suddenly he found himself in a heap on the dirt, struggling to breathe, even as he pushed himself across the grass. His senses returned to him with a snap and he immediately became aware that the demon had indeed broken something inside of him. He couldn't feel his side at all anymore, but the blood pooling rapidly beneath him was a strong indicator of the damage lying hidden under his shirt.

He pressed his working hand to his side, hoping to staunch the blood flow to some degree then turned his head weakly to identify his rescuer. His eyes almost shot out of his skull when he recognized the tall, lanky figure of his former servant, staring coldly at the demon with barely contained fury. The young man was bleeding from a cut on his chest, though from what Arthur could see, the wound looked superficial.

"Fool," the demon hissed at the young warlock. "You made me drop my lunch."

"You will step away from him," Merlin responded, voice stolid. "I'm giving you fair warning. You're compatriot was not so lucky."

The demon laughed, a sound so grating that Arthur winced. Merlin didn't react, but continued to look at the abomination, grim determination tightening his jaw.

"You do not scare me," the demon laughed, its remaining eye rolling in his socket.

"That's what your friend said," Merlin hissed, eyes closing as a spell came pouring from his lips. The demon only laughed harder, unaware of the dragon empowered sword rising in the air behind it.

The end came rather quickly after that. Arthur was strangely disappointed, but then reminded himself that the greatest battle of all had yet to begin.

The demon jerked in shock as the sword embedded itself in its back, laughter giving way to horrid screeches as the blade burned from within. Merlin watched the creature attempt to claw the weapon from its back with dispassionate eyes and Arthur shivered, whether from shock or his friend's emotionless gaze he didn't know. The demon's skin bubbled and hissed as its limbs failed and it collapsed to the ground not far from where Arthur lay. There was a flash of bright light and then all was quiet, save Arthur's labored breathing. The once demon possessed corpse stared sightlessly up at the sky.

Arthur coughed and was surprised to feel something hot and coppery slide up his throat and pepper his lips. He wiped his mouth with a shaking hand and stared dully at the red smears that stained his skin.

Merlin rushed to his side, though Arthur couldn't help but notice that the young man swayed slightly as he did so. His eyes grew as round as saucers as he stared at his king's blood covered side and Arthur raised his eyebrows.

"See something you like, Merlin?" he asked far more playfully than he felt.

"I can't fix this," the young man breathed, ignoring his king's comment. "There's no way…I can't…Arthur, I can't…"

"Stop," Arthur ordered, breathing heavily. "You're stressing me out, Merlin. Honestly, if you are going to act like such a girl go away and let me die in peace."

Merlin flinched at Arthur's words and shook his head, eyes wide and terrified. Arthur wanted to shut his friend's worry from his mind, but couldn't seem to get the image out of his head.

"How bad is it," he groaned, attempting to raise his head and see the damage. The instant he did so he felt his bones shift alarmingly within him and he cried out in pain, twisting his head to the side so he didn't choke on the blood that accompanied his rash decision to move.

He gritted his teeth until the pain had passed and his breathing eased somewhat. Merlin was staring at him, face pale and drawn in the moonlight.

"I need help," he whispered. "Awen is good at this sort of thing, Arthur. Healing spells, I mean. I've seen her do it…well, you have to. That was stupid of me to say. She can fix this…she has to."

The young man seemed torn between leaving him and remaining by his side and finally opted to remain, though he squeezed his eyes shut rather comically and did not open them again for a long moment.

"What was that," Arthur wheezed. "You looked like you were trying to lay an egg, Merlin."

"I was calling Awen and telling Morgana to get her ass down here, sire."

"Oh yeah, the mind connection whatsit. Why Morgana?"

"I have questions that need to be answered, sire. Besides there might be something about your wounds we need to know before we can heal you. Like with the griffin and I. She would know."

"Oh, right. Merlin, you do remember that she can't unlock the door, right?"

"Arthur," the young warlock replied shakily. "I thought we had already covered this. Unlike some people I know I am not dimwitted. I released the spell for her. She's on her way now."

"Merlin," Arthur gasped. "Have I ever told you that you are a bit strange?"

"Almost daily, sire."

"Not that I'm complaining," he coughed, the sensation in his side turning from numbness to a steadily growing heat. "It is nice to have someone swoop in and do the rescuing every once in awhile. What happened anyways?"

"I don't know," Merlin answered, pressing his hand on top of Arthur's side, grimacing at the pool of blood. "I got ambushed in the hall. The thing nearly took my head off before I realized it was there."

"How did you kill it," Arthur asked, horrified at how weak his voice sounded. "I don't remember my magical sword zooming to you're rescue."

"I didn't," the young man replied frowning.

"Then where is it?"

"Pinned to the wall with a magically enhanced boar spear, sire."

"Merlin," the young king slurred. "That is disgusting and most likely unsanitary. You'll be…you'll be…I can't…what was I saying, Merlin?"

"You were informing me of my big promotion," Merlin replied, voice cracking with fear and sorrow.

"No," Arthur replied, laughing wetly. "I don't t…think so. You would be…this really hurts, Merlin."

"I know," the warlock whispered, gripping his friend's cold hand with his own. "Just hold on, alright? You are going to be right as rain in no time."

"You are a horrible liar," the king gurgled, blood sluicing down his chin and pooling in the hollow of his throat. He grimaced and Merlin was heartbroken to see his friend look at him with the desperation of a dying man.

"Don't…don't let her see me," the young king cried, bloodied hand gripping Merlin's shirt. "Guinevere…don't let he see me like…" The young man trailed off, eyes rolling into the back of his head, bucking slightly as he fought for breath.

"Arthur," Merlin cried, sending what little healing power he could muster into this king. "Arthur don't do this!"

Arthur shook for a moment then sucked in a labored breath, but did not open his eyes. He was aware of Merlin's fingers tightening on his shirt and could even hear the young man calling his name, though it sounded like a shout from very far away. He wanted to answer, but every time he tried pain stole his voice from him.

He felt cool, slender hands lift his head before he felt the back of his skull resting against something soft and warm. The same hands trailed gently down his side until he felt them resting lightly on the spot the demon had broken. Suddenly, the fingers tightened on his wound and blinding pain shot through him for so long that Arthur thought he might go mad before it ended. He could feel his bones shifting within his chest and hand and thought that Merlin hadn't vanquished the demon after all. It had killed the warlock and was now finishing the job it had been attempting before being interrupted. Then, as abruptly as it had began, the pain was replaced with a soothing warmth and Arthur lost himself in it, all thought being wiped from his mind as he succumbed to sleep.


	6. The Neck Bone's Connected to The?

**Author's Note: **_So, it has come to my attention recently that I am still fairly clueless when it comes to the slang/acronyms of fanfiction. I have only recently figured out what the hell slash and whump are and discovered the meaning behind the acronym A/N tonight. So, forgive me if you say something on here having to do with that and I send you a message asking what you meant. I am sort of old fashioned that way. __**Spangley: **__Central Park scavenger hunts are the best thing ever, although you can do them anywhere you want to. We split my little group of friends up into three teams with four people on each team (obviously team numbers vary depending on who all is in attendance). We create a list of objects, people, or landmarks we have to find and set a time limit of one hour. Then it is off we go to try and beat the other teams in finding our selected items. The rule is that you have to bring back the item or bring back a picture of the landscape/person to prove that you found it, which can get tricky if you are looking for a street performer with a funny hat or a cop with a last name starting with an S. Haha. We play it at all times of the day and in other places around New York as well. The best version is the Subway hop that we do from the top of the city down to the bottom with each team taking a different train line and collecting things from the list. Sounds fun, right? Now on the next chapter! READ AND REVIEW PLEASE!_

When Awen had first arrived in Camelot she had been full to the bursting of glorious expectations and the adventures she would have there. She hadn't glimpsed much her first few hours within the city because she was too preoccupied with her warlock, who had been swaying in their saddle on the way up to the castle gates. It had taken all of her attention to keep the young man upright and she had missed the cautious stares the townsfolk had regarded her with.

During the following weeks Awen had opted to remain by Merlin's side while he recuperated. He slept a great deal and Awen spent the majority of her time exploring the castle grounds and the labyrinth of tunnels running beneath it. She enjoyed her solo adventures but it left her little time to become acquainted with the various members of the court and when Merlin finally became well enough to return to some of his lighter duties the young woman had felt inadequate to say the least.

She had no understanding of the customs of mortals and had, therefore, offended more than one noble in her first few weeks. Arthur found her confusion particularly entertaining. When she'd accidentally complimented an older nobleman on his strapping young son only to be haughtily informed that the son was in fact a wife, the young king had laughed so hard he'd spilt his wine all over Guinevere's dress which only deepened his amusement and her embarrassment.

Unlike many members of the castle staff, Arthur's wife took to the young Fair Folk woman instantly. Gwen had patiently instructed her on the various mannerisms of the court and had been a staunch ally from the very beginning. Of course, with Arthur and Merlin being best friends they were not at all surprised to find that they worked splendidly together.

As the months went by the two women grew closer even as the bond their respective partners shared soared to new heights. They fretted together, laughed together, cried together. It was, in some ways, what Awen believed having a sister would be like and she continually felt blessed that she had been lucky enough to not only receive a man she loved and a king she looked on like a brother, but her first true friend as well.

It was these circumstances that had brought Gwen hurrying into the chambers Awen and Merlin shared the moment she heard that her sister in law had returned with a vengeance. Awen had known little about Morgana and rarely asked Merlin about her. The subject of the woman seemed to confuse the young man, which, in turn, confused her. The warlock's emotions on the subject varied from day to day but usually evolved around a mix of fury and a throbbing sense of guilt. Awen had quickly learned to avoid the subject at all costs and so, when the queen had come to her in a panic, the Fair Folk woman had no clue what to expect.

The queen, however, had been more than prepared to educate her on the matter and as she learned more the greater her fear became. She understood, now more than ever, why the witch was such a sore subject for Merlin and her heart ached for him just as it ached for Arthur.

Of course, the presence of the Shadow Spirits disturbed her far more than the betrayals of an angry hateful woman ever could. She knew of these creatures, perhaps better than anyone for her Nan had often told the story of how her people had been slaughtered and forced across the sea.

The story told of a mortal king who coveted the lands and power of the Fair Folk people, believing that he could use such power to conquer the lands of the Picti who lived far to the North of Albion. At first, he had asked the great Shadow warriors of the Fair Folk to teach him their gifts, but they refused, saying that the power of the Blessed was not made for mortal men. The king had grown angry and had made a deal with an entity of great power, so evil that the simple uttering of its name would bring about great destruction. The entity promised the king an army the likes of which the world had never seen if, in return, the king released the entity from its prison so that it could feed upon the souls of the living.

The king, being an arrogant and hateful man, agreed to these terms and the Shadow World with its varying spirits was born, the most bloodthirsty being the Shadow Spirits. The demons had infected the king's armies and had sailed across the seas to the lands of Awen's people where they mercilessly slaughtered all who stood in their path. The Fair Folk were skilled warriors, but their magic was not meant to be used in battle and the demon's cruelty soon overcame the soldiers. Fearing for their lives the Fair Folk had fled to the gracefully built ships and traveled across the sea where they sought refuge from the demon's grasp. Only one king within Albion took pity on them, a great warlock himself, and, in order to hide them, created a dimension much like their home across the sea where the demon's could not follow.

The only satisfaction the Fair Folk received during the horrible battle for survival was the death of the usurper that had come to take their power and use it for his own nefarious purposes. The entity, having lost its mortal connection to the world, was banished back into the dark depths of the earth while the Shadow Spirits were trapped back within the Shadow World waiting for the moment they would be free to slaughter once more. That time was now.

Awen had told her people's story to Gwen and once the story was done they had both fallen silent, unsure of what to say. The fire in the small hearth in their room burned to embers as they anxiously awaited their men's return.

"I don't think I will ever get used to this," Gwen whispered, embers casting graceful shadows across her face.

"What?"

"Waiting like this," the queen replied, covering her eyes with a slender hand. "It is the worst feeling in the world, Awen. My husband is only fulfilling his duty as king, but every time he goes marching off to war I have to wonder if—"

"If he'll ever come back," Awen finished softly, meeting the woman's worried brown gaze with her own equally anxious lilac eyes. "I understand. They have each other, Gwen. At least we can draw some comfort from that."

"It should comfort me," Gwen said, smiling slightly. "But, those two find more trouble than anyone I've ever known. I blame Arthur, honestly. I love him dearly but he has a habit of throwing caution to the wind. Thank the gods Merlin has been there to watch out for him."

"I don't know how much watching Merlin is going to be able to do this time," Awen said, turning her attention back to the flames. "He's been so…distracted as of late."

"Distracted?"

"He isn't sleeping, Gwen. He assures me that he is, but I can feel his exhaustion. And the headaches…they aren't just headaches anymore. They are much worse than that and they are happening more frequently. I believe that a large part of it is his lack of sleep, but I feel that there is more to it than he says."

"Like what?"

"That's just it," Awen sighed. "I don't know. He's figured out a way to shut me out, Gwen. He hides from me and he refuses to tell me how he does it. It's frustrating and…well, its painful."

"Painful," Gwen asked, voice rising in concern. "How so?"

"It isn't a physical pain exactly," Awen said slowly, trying to think of a way to explain the phenomenon to her friend. "When he hides his mind from me he isn't just keeping me from his thoughts. It's like…it's like he disappears, Gwen. One moment he's there and the next he's gone…like he's never existed."

"Is he aware of this?"

"No, I haven't mentioned it to him. He's been so anxious with everything that has occurred recently and I don't want to stress him out. Especially now."

"Has he given you any updates," Gwen asked, looking at her friend hopefully.

"No," Awen huffed. "He just warned me, in no uncertain terms, that I am to stay as far away from Morgana as possible. He doesn't want her knowing about me though I feel entirely capable of taking her on."

"I would like to see that," Gwen laughed, staring anxiously out at the moonlit night.

"It could happen," Awen shrugged. "There have been stranger—"

"_Awen," _Merlin cried in her mind, voice cracking with fear and anguish. _"Awen, I need you! Now!"_

The young woman froze, intensely aware of Guinevere's eyes on her, but she felt overcome with the emotion her warlock was currently feeling. The sheer terror came to her like a blow to the face and tasted sharp and sour in her mouth. His agony was palpable as was the fury roiling like a thunderstorm beneath his sorrow and fear. She turned to look at Gwen with wide eyes.

"Something is wrong," she whispered, lurching from her chair to the frost-spattered window overlooking the training field. What she saw there nearly took her breath away and she quickly turned to keep Gwen from peering over her shoulder.

"What is it," Gwen cried, seeing the pained look on Awen's face. "What is going on? Merlin said something, didn't he? What did he say? Where is Arthur?"

"Gwen," Awen said as calmly as she could. "Everything is going to be fine, but I need you to stay he—"

"The hell with that," Gwen snapped fiercely. "Where is my husband, Awen?"

"He's with Merlin," Awen said, hoping that would be enough to appease her, but doubting it.

The queen must have seen something in her eyes for the woman let out a cry of anguish and clutched at her heart as if she'd received a physical blow. She sank to her knees and breathed heavily for a long moment before opening her eyes to stare at Awen calmly.

"Is he alright," Gwen whispered. "Is Arthur alright?"

"No," Awen whispered unwilling to waste any more time. "But he will be."

Before the queen could say anything more the Fair Folk woman opened the window and in an inhuman display of agility jumped lightly out of it to land catlike on the platform adjacent to the mortared stone that made up the castle wall.

It was that moment, of course, that she was blindsided by a horrendous wall of rage and grief from the young warlock below. She could hear the echoes of his scream of pain in her mind and she quickly climbed down to the field, heedless of any danger she might have put herself in.

She found Merlin, shoulders bent in grief, as he hunched over the lifeless body of his king. He turned to look at her blankly and when her mind touched his all she could feel was a numbing sense of confusion sweeping through him. He was in shock.

"He won't wake up," Merlin said lifelessly, turning back to Arthur, sweeping blood stained hands across the king's face.

Turning her attention from her warlock and onto to Arthur was difficult, but she cut herself off from Merlin and focused entirely on the mortally wounded king. There was bruising around the young man's throat, dark and livid against the paleness of his skin. Arthur's hand was broken—no, not broken—crushed and Awen felt her horror rise in her throat. She shook it away and lifted the man's shirt to discover the worst of the damage inflicted.

The king's ribcage was a tangled of mess of broken bones and torn flesh and Awen nearly retched at the sight of it. It was a wonder that the king hadn't died instantly let alone remain alive for as long as he had. She pressed against Arthur's stomach and grimaced when she felt pieces of bone where there shouldn't be any. It was clear that many, if not all, of the young man's lower ribs had been shattered.

She pushed Merlin gently away from him, putting his lack of resistance in the back of her mind as a concern to deal with later, and placed Arthur's head in her lap. The young man coughed and groaned when she shifted him and Awen felt her control slip slightly when Arthur choked on the blood in his throat. She turned his head to the side so he could breathe and was about to say the words that would heal her friend when she heard the panicked footsteps of another woman.

At first, she thought it was Gwen, but when she looked up she found the gaze of a pale, dark haired woman she had never seen before. The woman stared at the dying king as if she couldn't quite comprehend his being there, taking a half step towards him before stopping.

Arthur drew a ragged breath, released it and did not breathe again. Awen swiftly closed her eyes and all but shouted the words of healing she had mastered only months ago. They seemed second nature to her now and she prayed that they did not fail her.

As usual, nothing happened for a moment, but soon after the king's bones began to shift back into their allotted places, crackling horribly as they did so. The sound of it made Awen nauseous and she had to close her eyes lest the sight of Arthur's bones writhing beneath the skin make her faint.

Not long after the ribs twisted back together in a hiss of sinew and bone the king gasped in a desperate gulp of air, opening his eyes once, before they fluttered closed once more. Awen pressed her long fingers to the newly healed flesh and though his skin was stained with blood and he would have a new assortment of scars, her friend would be fine after some rest.

"Arthur," Gwen cried, finally arriving on the scene.

She fell to her knees beside the man and looked frantically from him to Awen, asking the questions she could not speak.

"He's fine," Awen said tiredly. "Some sleep and he will be just fine."

She was not going to tell her friend just how close Arthur had been to death and hoped that the king would remember little of his encounter with—wait, what had his encounter been with?

She turned to Merlin to ask, but was surprised to find his gaze fixed pointedly on the unknown woman. He was looking at her in a way Awen had never seen him look at anyone before and hoped to never see again. Whoever this woman was the young warlock hated her and she assumed that the pale-faced enchantress standing uncertainly before her was the infamous Morgana.

"This is what you wanted," Merlin hissed at her, voice so venomous the witch took a step back from him. "You did this—"

"Merlin," Awen said quietly. "He's fine. Arthur is just fine."

"Doesn't matter," he replied stiffly. "As long as she's here Arthur will always be in danger. Isn't that right, Morgana? This was your plan all along."

"No," Morgana whispered. "I had nothing to do with this, I swear."

"But you did," Merlin snarled. "You called those things here and they tore him up inside. I told you what I would do to you if you ever hurt them, Morgana."

The witch's face paled and she took a fearful step back. Merlin's eyes shone gold and the cloudless sky began to roil with thunder and lightning. The wind picked up, whipping their clothes about their faces, and Awen watched, horrified as Merlin lifted his hands up towards Morgana as if to strike her.

"Please," Morgana begged. "Merlin, I swear I didn't plan for this to happen."

The warlock didn't answer, but turned his eyes up to the sky and shouted words in the old language. They were so mangled with anger and pain, however, that Awen could barely make them out.

Lightning flashed and Awen screamed as the bolt seemed to hit Merlin directly in the chest. She turned away, expecting to see the man she loved ablaze, but was shocked to find him unharmed, the lightning gathering in a large orb in his hands until is was twice the size of his head. As suddenly as it began the light show tapered off and all was quiet but for the crackling of the electricity Merlin held in his hands.

"I should kill you," he whispered, staring at Morgana with vacant eyes. "That would be the smart thing to do, wouldn't it? The dragon tried to warn me about you, but like a fool I didn't listen. It would be irresponsible of me to allow you to live, but—"

To Awen's surprise and the witches' relief, Merlin lowered his hands though he didn't release the orb from between his hands. He looked back at Arthur whose chest rose and fell softly and then his gaze slid to Awen.

_"I don't know what to do,"_ he said in her mind.

_"You know," _she replied softly. _"You are a good man, Merlin. Just remember that."_

_ "Am I? Sometimes I don't think that I am, Awen. Sometimes I wonder if power really is corrupting."_

_ "Only if you allow it to be, Merlin. Will you allow it?"_

The young man turned back to Morgana and stared at her for a long time. The witch, to her credit, did not attempt to escape and looked back at him with grief and guilt sketched clearly on her face.

_"I think I would be crossing a line I could never uncross," _Merlin said, looking at Awen again. _"I have killed, but never like this. Never in cold blood. I don't want this, Awen, but I'm scared that if I let her go I won't be able to stop her next time."_

_ "Merlin, I love you."_

_ "What, _he asked, shooting her a rather comic double take.

_"I love you. Whatever you choose I want you to know that I love you."_

The young warlock froze and shivered slightly at her admission. With a sudden cry of sorrow and fear the young man hurled his power into the ground, the earth element canceling out its fatal charge. Merlin was breathing heavily as he collapsed to his knees, covering his face with his hands.

"I can't," he said hoarsely. "I can't do it."

Morgana shook her head as if stunned to still be a living, breathing body. Blinking away tears, she touched her hand to Merlin's shoulder and in a gesture reminiscent of the old Morgana tenderly touched her lips to his forehead. He pulled back, staring at her with a mixture of hope and confusion.

"Promise me," he said hoarsely. "Promise you won't leave us again."

Both witch and warlock knew that he wasn't speaking of her physically leaving them, but hoping that she would stay the Morgana he knew and that, for the first time in a long time, he could put her trust in her again.

"I'll try," she whispered, a sad smile gracing her lips.

"I suppose trying is all that I can ask for the moment," Merlin replied quietly.

"Merlin," Arthur said, so suddenly that all four of them jumped. "Where's my breakfast?"

The king hadn't opened his eyes, but he was smiling slightly. After a long moment he blinked blearily around him and sat up, touching his fingers to his throat and wincing.

"That hurt," he said hoarsely. "I thought I was done for, Awen. I knew you would serve a purpose. It's why I granted Merlin permission to bring you home with us."

Merlin snorted and rolled his eyes, but didn't say anything. Arthur immediately honed in on his servant's lack of response and eyed him strangely.

"At least I know someone would be upset if I died," he said after a moment. "Honestly I thought I would have received tears or at least a—"

He was cut off abruptly as Guinevere kissed him desperately, though he didn't seem to mind in the least. What he did mind, however, was the stinging slap that followed her show of passion.

"Ouch," he exclaimed, looking at his wife in bewilderment. "What on earth was that for?"

"Don't you ever scare me like that again, Arthur Pendragon," she said fiercely.

"How is this my fault? I was the victim here, remember?"

"I was merely being proactive," Gwen sniffed daintily. "Think of it as punishment for the next time you do something outrageously stupid."

"I have never done a stupid thing in my life, Gwen."

Merlin snorted and rolled his eyes.

"Do you have something to say, Merlin?"

"No, sire. Nothing at all."

"Come on, Merlin. Say what's on your mind."

"I would feel bad, sire."

"Why is that?"

"Well…"

"Go on, Merlin."

"The multiplying frog, Arthur."

"What does that childish prank have to do with anything?"

"You said you weren't stupid, but I think you'll find that the multiplying frog incident would provide evidence of the opposite."

"Just because it took me a few tries to figure out that it was my touch that was multiplying the damn thing doesn't mean that…."

"There's another one, sire."

"What?"

"Another example of your brainlessness."

"Hmmm…enlighten me, Merlin."

"You obviously can't count, sire. You said it only took you a few tries, but I believe you'll find it was a great deal more than a few. I believe there were a total of fifteen frogs by the time you called me in and we only had one to start with."

"Merlin?"

"Hmmm…."

"I'm calling a truce."

"What?"

"I can't think straight," the king yawned, laying his head back down on Gwen's lap. "I think I'll sleep for awhile and dream of all the really nasty things I can say to you."

"You do that, sire."

"Oh, and Merlin," the king sighed as he closed his eyes. "Thank you for coming to my rescue, old friend."

Merlin didn't answer, but he didn't really need to. Though Awen knew she was loved by the warlock she understood that there were some bonds she could never be a part of. Guinevere had this understanding as well and both women were proud to be loved by such loyal men.

Suddenly, the young warlock lurched to his feet, alarm written all over his face.

"Oh no," he breathed. "Oh, I forgot."

"Forgot what," Morgana asked quietly.

"I sort of left something in the castle," he replied, turning and running full speed towards the castle doors after sweeping Excalibur from the ground.

"And you need it now?"

"Well," he said, stopping to look at them. "Its actually very important, Awen. Arthur and I were attacked by Shadow Spirits. Scouts, I think, but still more interested in gutting us than any reconnaissance."

"You both were attacked," Gwen asked in alarm. "Where are they?"

"One is dead and the other…well, it's somewhere secure."

"And you are going to go kill it on you own," Awen hissed. "Absolutely not."

"I'm not going to kill it," Merlin said darkly.

"What are you going to do then? Dress it up in frilly clothes and make it your doll," Awen asked, drawing an exasperated glance from Merlin.

"Not quite what I had in mind," he said softly. "I think I have some questions I'd like to ask our uninvited guest."

"And how are you going to get him to answer?"

The look Merlin gave her was long and hard.

"Whatever I have to," he said evenly with a steely glint in his eyes. "They won't play by the rules? Then I won't either. We've already killed one so we know they aren't invincible. Its small as far bright sides go, but as Arthur says, you only need an ember to make a flame."

"Here, Here," Arthur muttered dreamily. "Three cheers…for my best ffriend…the warlo—"

The rest of his sentence was lost in a huge, catlike yawn. They laughed and it crossed each other their minds that they might not have something to laugh about for a very long time.

"Well," Merlin sighed. "Time to get to work…saving the world…again."


	7. Control Alt Delete

**Author's Note: **_Hello everyone…here is another chapter for your enjoyment. I hope you all like it because it took me a little bit to decide how I wanted it to go. I have always felt that, while Merlin is a good and decent human being, his struggles with doing bad things in the name of good will grow harder. This chapter will focus a bit on that, but from Arthur's point of view. I hope you all like it. By the way, I wanted to let you all know that I have written two different stories in this story arc in the last three days. The first is called _Life is Like a Box of Chocolates_ and is about Awen's decision to leave home. The other is called _A Toad, A Rat, and a Cat Walk into a Bar _which is just a cute little fluff story about a prank Merlin pulls on Arthur. I would love your thoughts on both of them as well as this one! So, here goes nothing and please REVIEW!_

Arthur woke to a dull ache along the contours of his ribcage, the feeling vaguely similar to what his muscles experienced after a particularly vigorous training session. The pain wasn't entirely unwelcome and he took a moment to accept its presence before opening his eyes, expecting to see Guinevere looming wearily over his bedside.

His wife, however, was nowhere to be found, though he saw signs of her comings and goings all about the room. A fire crackled dully in the hearth and he detected a faint hint of the cinnamon cloves and juniper leaves Gwen often threw into the flames to lessen the smoky stench that broiled out of the pit. He'd been scrubbed clean and been clothed in a loosely fitting royal blue tunic that his wife had chosen as her favorite.

He turned his head to her side of their large bed and smiled at what he'd known would be waiting for him. There, lying undisturbed on her pillow, was a sprig of dried lavender. It was a sign of her undying loyalty to him, or so she had explained on their wedding night. The flower was her way of easing his fears of betrayal at her hands, which, though he fought to banish them, were never far from his mind. The woman often woke before he did, being so used to keeping servant's hours and every morning, without fail, he would wake to the sweet and promising caress of lavender. Sweet and promising like his Guinevere, the queen of his heart long before she'd become the queen of his lands.

Though he was disappointed at his wife's absence he felt slightly appeased that he hadn't been left completely alone. Merlin was sound asleep in Arthur's favorite chair that sat closest to the fire, his head bent backward at an awkward and most likely uncomfortable angle. The scant light of the flames flickered across the planes of his face, making the young man look haggard and sickly. Though, if Arthur were honest with himself, the flames were not entirely to blame for his friend's frail appearance. Merlin had not looked well for a long time.

Arthur felt the familiar and unwelcome worry for his friend slither into his stomach. The subject of Merlin's health, both mental and physical, had been a source of consistent tension between the two men for months now and he had long ago stopped asking about the young warlock's wellbeing because Merlin grew increasingly frustrated every time the king broached the subject. But, just because he'd stopped asking didn't mean he didn't notice the young man's continuous decline or that it concerned him any less.

He and Awen had spent many long nights discussing the young man, and though there were times of great happiness and laughter, the Fair Folk woman was privy to the moments Merlin chose to keep to himself. The nightmares had been the elephant in the room since they'd returned from Eryr Cadw, but the debilitating headaches the warlock was often afflicted with was something he'd only recently become aware of.

It had been a normal day, or at least as normal as a day could be since their little sojourn into the unknown. Merlin was attempting to teach him some basics behind some rudimentary spells, but had seemed distracted, often wincing if the sun shone too brightly through the castle windows or if Arthur spoke louder than usual. Not long after, the warlock had begun to stumble on his words and before the king could even inquire about what was bothering him the young man had fallen to his knees, retching the meal they'd shared only an hour before all over the stonework floor. Moments later he'd passed out cold.

He'd been terrified as he'd carried the young man to Gaius's chambers, but it seemed that he was only one that was surprised over his friend's condition. Both Awen and the physician had merely sighed sadly and shook their heads with a sort of resigned irritation. It was only after the warlock had been tucked into bed that Gaius had informed the king of his friend's severe affliction.

Of course, the two men had fought horrendously for days over Merlin's reluctance to inform his king of his plight. Arthur had argued that they had promised to not keep secrets from each other, though Merlin had insisted that he hadn't been doing anything of the sort. In the warlock's mind it wasn't exactly secret material if Arthur never inquired about it, but the king felt that Merlin was walking a thin line with his logic. The entire castle had felt the effects of their quarrel and it was only after pleas from both Gwen and Awen that the two had come to a grudging halt on the matter.

He stared at his friend's limp form for a moment longer, debating on whether or not he should rouse Merlin from his slumber. In the end, however, the warlock would have an integral part to play in the following days and time was running short. Sleep would come later. For now they had a war to plan.

He rose from his bed, gasping slightly as his ribs hissed in protest. His chest felt slightly constricted and when he lifted his shirt to look he was surprised to see a lump of bone barely protruding from beneath his skin. He fingered it and though it was slightly sore, it was not painful. He felt reasonably certain that the demon had crushed or broken the majority of the bones in his chest and guessed that the protrusion was merely a leftover from the intense healing he'd received.

He certainly was not happy about it, but if all he had suffered was a misplaced knuckle of bone and a few extra scars after a blow like the one he received, he wouldn't complain. He stretched slightly and was pleased to find that the protrusion didn't hinder his movement in the slightest. Once again, he owed Awen his life and reminded himself to thank her again.

"Merlin," he said gently, putting a light hand on the man's shoulder. "Wake up, Merlin."

Arthur tried to ease him into consciousness, but knew that it wasn't likely to happen. The young man had been a skittish wreck since his romp with the darkness so many months previous and even the gentlest of touches could startle him. As expected, the warlock jerked awake with a gasp of fright and promptly fell out of the chair.

He looked up at Arthur with a sort of dazed detachment, sleep muddling his thoughts and it was a long moment before his eyes lit up with recognition. He pushed himself stiffly to his feet and rolled his neck, wincing as it crackled and popped. After stretching himself to a more alert state, the young man embraced the king with a brotherly pat on the back.

"Arthur," he said softly. "It's good to see you awake, sire."

The young man was all smiles, but Arthur could see something dark lurking beneath his friend's eyes. There was a tension in his shoulders and a rigidness in the way he held himself that Arthur couldn't begin to understand, but certainly did not like. The warlock's eyes never met his and the king was reminded of that first painful week after Merlin had been snatched back from the edge of oblivion.

"Merlin," Arthur whispered, instead of replying to the young man's false statement of cheer. "What is it? What's wrong?"

"Nothing," the young man replied after a brief hesitation. His deceiving grin was still planted firmly on his face and Arthur was briefly tempted to remove it, but thought better of it.

"Don't do this, Merlin. Not now."

"I'm not doing anything, Arthur," his friend replied tersely. "I am simply congratulating you on your return to the land of the living."

"I can tell you are hiding something from me and I don't appreciate it. We've talked about this, Myrddin."

"Don't," Merlin growled. "You don't get to call me that, Arthur. Only Awen."

Arthur looked at his friend, stunned. He wracked his brain trying to pinpoint what on earth he could have done to make his friend act so hostile towards him. He couldn't think of a damn thing and his worry grew. Merlin didn't have a cruel bone in his body and for the young man to be acting in such a way without reason alarmed the king greatly. The warlock must have realized this for he flinched and sighed, shaking his head as if pained.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "That was rude, Arthur. I don't know what's gotten into me."

"Sure you do," Arthur responded. "You just won't tell me."

"Don't worry," Merlin muttered darkly. "You'll find out soon enough."

"What are you talki—"

"I did something awful today, Arthur. Something terrible. Or…at least I played a part in it."

"What?"

"We needed information, sire. I didn't know what else to do…he wouldn't give me anything to work with."

"Merlin, who are you talking about?" Arthur asked, more confused than ever.

"The demon, sire. You know, the one I pinned to the wall?"

"I still find that terribly disgusting, Merlin. Perhaps even more disgusting than the roedats or toerats you left in my chambers."

His feeble attempt to get his friend to smile failed miserably and Arthur nearly growled in frustration. He tried to be a good friend, honestly he did, but he always seemed to bungle it up somehow. Merlin was a natural at it…or, at least he had been before the darkness got a hold of him. Now it seemed like he'd withdrawn a great deal from the outside world, content to thrive in the life he was comfortable with. Arthur didn't begrudge him this for an instant, knowing that his friend needed time to heal properly and would, one day, return as the easy going, overly friendly and wiseass servant of old.

"Don't joke, Arthur. There isn't time for that. We've got three days before a horde of demons come knocking on our gates, sire. That's it."

"How do you know this, Merlin? Did Morgana tell you this?"

"No," Merlin answered quietly, eyes sliding away from his own to stare fixedly on a smudge of soot on the floor by the fire warmed hearth.

"Then how?"

"I would prefer not to talk about it, Arthur."

"Not an option, Merlin. I'm sorry, but in this case I have to know."

"Can't you just trust me on this, Arthur? Please?"

"Merlin," Arthur said gently. "Whatever it is I'm sure I'll understand. I'm the king and anything that could hinder or help the fight for my people then I need to be aware of it. You can understand that, can't you?"

"Yes," Merlin whispered. "But…"

"But?"

"It's bad, Arthur. Really, really bad."

"It can't be that bad, Merlin. You aren't—"

"Arthur, don't make assumptions about my character, alright? You don't even know what I've done yet."

"Then tell me so I can be the judge of that."

"I can't do it with you looking at me, sire."

The warlock turned away from him to face the flames, eyes watching the flames dance as if hypnotized. Arthur felt a growing sense of unease in the pit of his belly and as the seconds passed into minutes the king felt an almost irresistible urge to force his friend to face him and tell him what the hell was going on. He managed to quell the intense need for answers by dressing himself in more appropriate clothing and allowed the warlock to come to whatever terms made the retelling of the story easier on him.

It was only after Arthur shrugged on his long, sun tanned leather coat that his father had given him as a twentieth birthday present that Merlin began to speak. His features were hidden by shadows created by the dancing flames and the king barely suppressed an apprehensive shiver.

"You've been asleep for almost twelve hours, sire. We've gotten a lot accomplished in that amount of time, but none of it brought news we wanted to hear. The two demons were scouts, Arthur. They had one purpose and one purpose only. They were to get the logistics of our army and discover the easiest and least protected routes into and out of the city."

"They attacked us," Arthur pointed out. "Scouts aren't supposed to attack, Merlin. See and report. That is their job."

"Bloodlust," the young man replied with a humorless grin. "Its something we don't really understand until we are in desperate situations. The demons, however, are well acquainted with it. They look at it as an old friend, sire. Their job may have been to see and report, as you say, but the chance to take out two of their strongest opponents must have been overwhelming for them."

"Go on."

"I already told you that I was nearly taken out in the hallway. You'll be amused to know that it was my only clumsiness that saved my life. I stumbled into a suit of armor and it fell on me. The demon would have probably ripped me limb from limb had it not struck the armor instead of me. As it was I barely made it out with my life. The damn boar spear was the only thing I could think of on the fly and I knew I had to find you."

"How could you have known that, Merlin?"

"It's almost second nature to me now," the warlock shrugged. "Like a sixth sense or something."

"I don't know whether to be flattered or creeped out, Merlin."

"A little bit of both probably. Anyways, you already know what happened after I found you in the training field."

"You killed it," Arthur whispered. "I remember you doing that."

"Wasn't me," Merlin said honestly. "It was Excalibur, Arthur. I had nothing to do with it."

"Oh," Arthur sighed. "Merlin, how am I supposed to defeat a hundred demons with one sword?"

"Ninety-eight, sire. There are only ninety-eight demons now and I'll get to defeating them in a minute."

"You have a plan then?"

"An idea, really, but it's better than nothing. Now, just listen, will you? This is hard enough as it is without having you interrupting all the time."

"Please continue, O Mighty Merlin. Forgive me for my rudeness."

"Don't be cute, sire. It doesn't become you in the slightest."

"Weren't you just scolding me for interrupting the flow of conversation?"

"Right, continuing on. So, we knew that the magic in Excalibur could kill the damn things, but what we didn't know is when and where they were likely to strike. Luckily, or perhaps unluckily depending on your point of view, we had a demon prisoner who most likely had the information that we needed."

"He wouldn't have told you anything, Merlin."

"Not true, sire. Everyone talks eventually, you know. It just takes the right…motivation."

"Merlin," Arthur said quietly. "Please tell me you didn't…"

"Thankfully no," the warlock sighed. "But Morgana did and I…well, I was there while she did it. The screams, Arthur…I didn't think that…it was awful."

"Gods," Arthur croaked, watching as his friend folded his arms to his chest as if protecting himself.

"I wanted to run, Arthur. Good Gods, I wanted to run, but I didn't. She would do this thing with—" The young man paled and swayed dangerously on his feet. Arthur rushed to his side and helped him find his way to the chair where he sat with his head between his legs, trying not to be sick.

"Don't think about it, Merlin. Just—I don't know—just think about something else, alright?"

"Right," Merlin croaked, a bitter laugh escaping him. "It's the only thing I can think about, Arthur. How it reminded me of—"

"Don't do this to yourself, Merlin. Just stop."

"If you insist," the young man whispered numbly. "Either way we got the information we needed. We know approximately when and where they will strike, sire. All we need now is to plan our defense which is where I come in."

"You have an idea?"

"Yes, but you aren't going to like it."

"I rarely like any of your ideas, cabbage head."

"My point exactly, sire. But, believe me when I say, you'll like this one even less."

"Cut the suspense, Merlin. What's the plan?"

"Excalibur, Arthur. Or…the magic residing within Excalibur to be precise."

"What about it?"

"It obviously has the capability of killing them, but the question is how to harness that power."

"And?"

"Well, and this is where it gets tricky, we would need to spread the power out in some way. Sort of like a…shield, for lack of a better word."

"How on earth are we supposed to do that?"

"I'm getting to that, Arthur. Keep your pants on, alright? We—Morgana and I, I mean—toyed with the idea of calling Kilgarrah and having him do the honors, but we quickly rejected that idea."

"Why? It seems perfectly rational to me, Merlin."

"Of course it would, sire. But, you don't understand magic like we do. Kilgarrah would give us some fire power, don't get me wrong, but he wouldn't be a reliable defense. He can breathe fire to his heart's content, but in order to use his other power he has to have an object or person to enchant."

"He could enchant all of our swords then and—"

"Not an option, I'm afraid. Arthur, the power of those swords are unimaginable and unfortunately the use of them is not limited to people with good intentions. We would have to make thousands of swords to properly arm the soldiers and if they fell in the wrong hands, sire, we would have much bigger problems than we already do."

"What about the other dragon? Aithusa, right? Surely she could add some of her power to the fray."

"She can and she will, though, if I'm honest I don't like her being this close to Camelot. She shares an uncanny connection with a certain witch."

"But, you can control her right? So what does it matter?"

"I'm not sure," Merlin replied, frowning. "It's just a feeling that I have."

"And aren't we trusting Morgana now?"

"Not at all, Arthur. I had to make it seem like I did though. If she ends up betraying us I want to have every advantage I can and that includes her thinking I trust her."

"So you think she's up to something?"

"I think that, for right now anyways, she fully intends to assist us in this. But later…who knows? I'd like to hope that she won't betray us, but I think we all know that once this ordeal is all said and done we will be right back where we started. She can never return here, Arthur. I hope you understand that. There are too many risks involved."

"I know, Merlin. It was nice to think that it could be different though. Even if it didn't last long."

"Well, I'm certainly hoping that things are different, Arthur. Its my life on the line if they aren't."

"What? What exactly do you mean by that?"

"Arthur…there is a way to create the amount of power we would need to tap into the magic within Excalibur and make a shield out of it."

"Merlin, I don't like this…"

"Just…wait. In order for something like this to happen there has to be a magical conduit."

"A conduit?"

"Something to ground the magic, sire. It needs to be something that can handle that kind of power which would limit our options to a single person."

"I'm guessing that person is you."

"You would be correct in that assumption, yes."

"Why you, Merlin?"

"Excalibur is filled with a dragon's power, Arthur. In order to be a conduit for magic that is that pure and that powerful you would need to have that magic within yourself."

"Dragonlord."

"Yes, Arthur. I share the same power though I can't use mine in quite the same way. It would have to be me."

"So, that's it then? You just use the magic within Excalibur to create a shield?"

"It's not that simple, sire."

"It never is."

"I won't have control over where it goes, sire. All my attention will be on keeping it from overpowering me. That's where Morgana comes in."

"I am not liking this one bit, Merlin."

"I told you that you wouldn't, Arthur. Morgana has to control the direction the magic goes in and who it targets. If she is going to betray us she will do so at that moment. If she decides to turn the magic on you there is nothing I can do to stop her. I'm completely at her mercy."

"No," Arthur spat. "There is no way in hell I am letting you—"

"We don't have any other option, sire. There isn't time for arguing either. We have to get the knight's prepared."

"I thought you said that you could create a shield, Merlin. Why do the knights have to fight at all?"

"I'll need time to set it up properly, Arthur. Besides, I will not be able to hold it for long. We'll need to get the demons in one location, box them in so to speak. That is where you and the knights come into play. It's your job to herd them there."

"You came up with this all on your own," Arthur asked in awe.

"Most of it, yes. Awen helped as well. She's rather brilliant you know."

"She's brilliant? Merlin, you are—wait, what happens to you when the magic hits you."

"If I can keep it in check then nothing," Merlin grimaced, eyes shifting away from the king's.

"And if you can't?"

"Arthur, I told you there would be risks, you know. The probabilities of me losing control are slim so there is really nothing you need to—"

"Merlin, what happens to you if you lose control?"

"Sire, it really doesn't matter. Just let it go."

"Absolutely not, Merlin. Answer the question or so help me god I will find a way to lock you up until all this is over."

"No, you won't. You can't afford that."

"I deserve to know, Merlin. This is my battle and my people and I deserve to know."

"Fine. Just remember that you asked for it, sire. Don't come crying to me when you don't like it."

"Now, Merlin. What happens if you lose control?"

"Quite simply, sire? I'll die and probably take a good chunk of Camelot with me."


	8. The King's Speech

**Author's Note:**_ Sorry it has been so long since I have updated. I haven't really been feeling the motivation on this story like I did with the last one and I have been very busy. I know there was some concern about the angst in this story, but I promise it will get better. I had to get the plot going before I could get in some fluff chapters. Also, I know that Merlin has had time to heal and he has, but after all the darkness did to him I don't think he is going to be right as rain just like that. As for Awen, I understand that some people don't like her, but she is here to stay. Arthur has Gwen and Merlin deserves to have somebody else as well. If you read _Life is Like a Box of Chocolates _you will see that even though Merlin loves Awen his loyalty to Arthur means more. Anyways, please review because I really, REALLY need the motivation. _

"Arthur, do we really have to do this?"

"Yes, Merlin. We really do."

"Can't you just….you know…throw your weight around and make them do what you want?"

"Sometimes your lack of knowledge concerns me, Merlin."

"It's your fault, you know. Your stupidity rubbed off on me."

Merlin was met with silence and the warlock couldn't help but grin victoriously behind his friend's back. Perhaps it was bit petty of him. After all, he usually won the various verbal sparring sessions between Arthur and himself, but despite this he couldn't help the feeling of accomplishment that came with the complete verbal annihilation of his king.

His grin faded as he once again thought about where they were going and what they hoped to accomplish once they arrived there. For the second time in so many hours Arthur planned for him to stand before the court, but this time he was supposed to convince them to not only trust him, but trust him enough to put the fate of Camelot in his magic-endowed hands.

He sighed and blew out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Sometimes he wished Arthur would be more of a tyrant, but the moment the thought entered his head he shook it away in disgust. Arthur had every chance to be a tyrant, like his father before him, but against all odds the young king had fought to be a man worth following. His people remained loyal to him, not out of fear, but out of love and a trust so deep Merlin sincerely doubted they would deny him anything if he asked it of them. They believed that, no matter the circumstances, Arthur had their best interests at heart. The amazing thing was, he did.

"Merlin," Arthur said quietly from somewhere ahead of him. "Can I ask you something?"

Merlin paused and looked up at his friend. Arthur had stopped in the middle of the hallway and was looking at him strangely. The warlock couldn't place the expression on his face, but the young king almost looked…insecure. Merlin didn't like that idea at all, but the more he thought about the more likely it seemed.

"You just did, didn't you," Merlin quipped, knowing even as the words escaped him that it was the wrong thing to say.

"Never mind," Arthur sighed. "I just…forget it."

"Arthur," Merlin called, jogging to catch up with his friend. "Wait, I didn't mean that. Ask away. Please…I want you to."

Arthur was quiet for a long time and Merlin was starting to think he'd ruined the moment, but before he could start berating himself too vehemently his friend spoke up.

"Am I a good king, Merlin?"

Merlin was a bit stumped by this question. Not by the answer, of course, but the reason the inquiry was being made in the first place. It had never occurred to him that Arthur might have concerns about how he was running his kingdom because the warlock didn't have any complaints and could not think of a time when anyone else had expressed concern either.

Merlin also realized that he would have to proceed with caution. Arthur was looking at him earnestly and an earnest Arthur never bode well for anyone. It was extremely rare for the king to show any sign of weakness and Merlin knew that for him to do so would cost him a great deal. The fact that he chose to share his concern with Merlin was a far greater affirmation of the king's friendship then any words could have ever been, but as a result Merlin's answer could either be a great comfort or a giant shove in the wrong direction.

"Arthur," Merlin said quietly. "Why would you think otherwise?"

"I'm nothing like my father," the young king whispered. "I tried to be, but I realized that the harder I tried the more I questioned my actions. Yet, I can't help but wonder if he would have handled all this better, Merlin. It seems that no matter what I do I keep putting my people in danger."

"Arthur—"

"No, let me get this out before you start arguing with me, all right? Do you know what being a king means, Merlin? What it really means? From the look on your face I'm guessing you don't so I'll tell you. It means making decisions that nobody else wants to make. People always want to make it sound more grandiose than it is, you know. They talk about the power and the wealth, but they never mention the choices you are forced to make on a daily basis. They never mention the lives you have to sacrifice in order to keep your people safe. None of that ever makes it into the job description.

So, tell me, Merlin. Tell me how I can be a good king when I'm on my way to ask sons and fathers to die for a cause they had no hand in bringing about. Morgana hated me and it was me she was going after, so why should they have to pay the price? Why should anyone have to pay the price for my failures, Merlin? And how can I be someone worthy of following when I allow them to?"

"Arthur," Merlin replied softly, placing a hand on his friend's shoulder. "Listen to me and don't interrupt, you great clotpole. I'll tell you why you are a great king and it's very simple when you get down to it. You are a great king, Arthur, because you ask yourself if you are."

"I'm sorry," Arthur muttered incredulously. "I don't quite understand what you mean by—"

"I said no interrupting," Merlin sighed. "Arthur, your father was a man who was entirely sure that what he was doing was the right thing. He never questioned himself and looked at his people as if they were pawns at his disposal. You look at them as people, Arthur. You care about their happiness and their wellbeing above your own and they know that you do. They love you for it, sire. Morgana's hatred for you is no more your fault then it is the peoples. They know this as well.

They'd follow you until the ends of the earth if you asked, Arthur. And so would I."

"Merlin," Arthur whispered. "Be serious—"

"I am," Merlin said with a smile. "I have seen you grow in ways I never thought possible. When the dragon first told me that you were my destiny I thought he was crazy, but now I see what he meant. You have become a man worthy of a thousand crowns, Arthur Pendragon. I know this, your knight's know this, your people know this. The only person who seems ignorant of that fact is you."

"Merlin," Arthur said after a long pause. "After all this is over will you remind me of something?"

"Anything."

"Remind me to have you write all of my speeches from now on, will you?"

"I already do," Merlin laughed, relieved to see his friend's confident grin. "You are bloody awful at speech writing, did you know that?"

"I write great speeches, Merlin. Just because you don't know how to read—"

"'I think that watering our crops with the ditch things is a good idea.'"

"What was that?"

"A line from your speech on irrigation, Arthur. I laughed so hard after reading that particular line that I fell over and spilled your soup."

"I don't believe I ever said ditch things, Merlin."

"Oh, you did. I saved the scroll for proof…or blackmail, which ever came in handy first."

"And you call yourself a loyal servant."

"I thought we agreed that I was no longer your servant, Arthur."

"You keep going on about how horrible of a speech writer I am,

I may change that."

"Sorry," Merlin said. "Sometimes the urge to make you feel as ridiculous as you look becomes too strong."

"Merlin," Arthur said warningly. "Watch yourself."

"Why? What are you going to do to me? If you try anything I can just turn you into a—"

Merlin wasn't quite sure how he ended up on the ground, but he strongly suspected Arthur had something to do with it. The young king was grinning mildly down at him, arms folded regally across his chest, eyebrows raised and a wicked gleam in his eyes.

"You pushed me," Merlin grunted incredulously. "I can't believe you pushed me."

"Sorry Merlin," Arthur smirked. "Sometimes the urge to make you feel as ridiculous as you look becomes too strong."

"It isn't clever when you are only repeating another person's genius," Merlin snapped, grinning to soften his words.

"How the two of you will ever manage to rule over all of Albion is beyond me," said a voice, dripping with amusement.

"Gaius," Merlin said, turning to face the old man. "What are you doing here at this time of night?"

"The same thing you are," the physician answered. "Arthur invited me to sit in on the proceedings this time around."

"You did," Merlin asked looking at Arthur. "Why?"

"I've decided to promote Gaius to Royal Advisor," the king replied. "It's long overdue, don't you think?"

"That's fantastic," Merlin cried. "Gaius, did you know about this or—"

"Gaius is not the only man I'm promoting," Arthur interrupted smoothly. "Save some excitement for yourself, hmmm?"

"For myself," Merlin repeated. "You don't mean—"

"I do," Arthur nodded. "In a few moments time you'll be Merlin, Right Hand of the King. Please don't make me regret it."

"I—I—I don't even know what—"

"You aren't going to cry on me, are you?"

"Can I hug you?"

"What?"

"Can I hug you, Arthur? I mean, I know you don't like hugs because you think they aren't manly or something but—"

Merlin was stopped from a full on rant by his king's arms pulling him into a tight and almost gruff embrace. They stood that way for a few seconds then Arthur gently pushed the warlock away, attempting to get his own emotions under control.

"Stop acting like a girl, Merlin," the king snapped, turning away. "The Right Hand to the king can't be seen weeping, you know. It sends the wrong message to the people."

"I wasn't," Merlin smiled. "It's ok, Arthur. Your secret is safe with me."

"Merlin," Arthur growled, turning back to him with recently dried eyes. "Don't make me—" He sighed then smiled. "Thank you, old friend."

"What exactly are you thanking me for, Arthur?"

"Don't push it, Merlin."

"Sorry."

"Now, I believe we have business to attend to. Time stands still for no warlock, isn't that how the saying goes?"

"Something like that, Arthur."

"Is that not right?"

"Well…it's actually…you know what? You are absolutely right. Time stands still for no warlock."

"Merlin?"

"Yes, Arthur?"

"You really are a horrible liar."

"Only when I want to be, sire."

"Comforting thought."

"Isn't it, though?"

"Merlin, we're here."

And indeed they were. Merlin stood staring at the doors that had only hours before spelled doom. Now however, the giant oak panels were a bit of a joke and only hindered him from the change he had been waiting on for a better part of a decade. He was Emrys, after all. This was his destiny and the men inside the room beyond could do little to change that. He had everything he needed, anyways. He had friends who were loyal to a fault, a woman he loved and cherished, and a king…no, a brother, who believed in the world they were destined to create almost as much as he believed in Merlin.

"Are you ready for this, Merlin?"

"You know," Merlin said, grinning at his friend. "I think I am. The question is, are you?"

"I have a speech," Arthur said quietly. "I wrote it…how ready could I possibly be?"

"Can I let you in on a little secret, Arthur?"

"Another one, Merlin? I don't know if I can handle anymore of your little—"

"Shut up, cabbage head. Your speeches on day to day things are awful, Arthur. It's not that you don't care, but it's obvious they aren't the most pressing matters on your mind."

"That's reassuring, Merlin. Thanks for that."

"Kings shouldn't be sarcastic. It's not very regal behavior, you know. So your speeches on daily matters stink, so what? The speeches that really matter, like the one you'll be making tonight…you are a regular poet, Arthur. The things I have seen you inspire people to do are incredible. You'll do just fine."

"I hope your right," Arthur sighed. "If not I'll have more than one enemy after the stunts I pull tonight."

"Did you mean for that to rhyme?"

"What?"

"You said right and then you said toni—"

"Really? You choose now to act like an idiot? Bravo, Merlin, your timing is spot on as always."

"You are stalling, Arthur."

"I am, aren't I? Well, here goes nothing."

Arthur pushed open the heavy oak doors and strode confidently into the room, smiling graciously at the various court members gathered there. They did not smile back and Merlin was reminded that they had been rudely awakened from their needed beauty sleep. He fought a grin when his eyes fell upon Yamish, who had forgotten to remove his nightcap from his oily head.

"I know it is late," Arthur began, slowly making his way towards the head of the table. "I apologize for the inconvenience, but I promise I would not have wakened you if the circumstances had not been dire."

"You had better hope they are," Yamish muttered beneath his breath.

"Believe me, Yamish, I would rather spend my nights beside my beautiful wife and dreaming of feasts and sweet wine then to spend it looking at you," Arthur grinned wickedly, dislike clearly visible on his face.

"Arthur," Merlin warned. "Tread carefully."

"He deserved that," the king whispered to his friend.

"You'll get no argument from me," Merlin muttered. "But is now really the time or place?"

"Perhaps not," Arthur sighed, before looking back to his flock of disgruntled sheep. "I apologize for my rudeness. I, like many of you, have gotten very little sleep and do not foresee doing so in the near future."

"What is going on, sire?" asked a man who vaguely reminded Merlin of a hedgehog.

"Excellent question, Eddard," Arthur said. "But first, I have a few matters of business to take care of. Will Gaius please step forward?"

Gaius edged his way to the front of the court, choosing to look at Merlin instead of facing the court's questioning stares. He stood in front of Arthur, who pulled his sword from his scabbard and gently asked the old man to kneel. Merlin moved to assist him, but the old physician waved him away with an impatient hand.

"You have been a dear friend for a long time," Arthur said, loud enough for the court to hear. "I would have preferred to do this in front of the entire realm, but time restraints have limited me to this. Rest assured that you will have more pomp and ceremony once this mess is over."

"Sire—", a voice began, but quickly quieted upon Arthur's look.

"I hereby impart to you the title of Royal Advisor and all the duties and perks the title entails," Arthur said quietly. "Do you accept this honor?"

"I do, sire."

"And do you swear to serve me for as long as you may live?"

"I do."

"Then rise, Gaius and go forth with your oath of fealty in your heart."

"This is an outrage," Yamish growled, his outburst seconded by several other members of the court.

"Then you'll love this," Arthur said sweetly, his grin fierce and defiant. "Merlin, if you please."

"Arthur," Merlin whispered. "You don't have to do this now, you know. It can wait."

"No, it can't and yes I do," Arthur replied. "Now, kneel please."

Merlin knelt at his friend's feet, head bowed solemnly. He would never be able to put how he felt in words, but he believed Arthur knew anyways. It was written all over his face.

"Many of you have doubts about this man," Arthur said, voice humble. "Doubts that are understandable under the circumstances. You do not know him as I do and I cannot fault you for your concern, no matter how unwarranted it may be. This decision may seem rash to some and insane to others, but I find that I care very little."

"Arthur," Merlin yelped, looking up at his king in alarm. "You can't say that—"

"Hush," Arthur ordered gently and for once Merlin obeyed. "I do not mean to say that your opinion doesn't matter because it does. It matters a great deal. What I mean is that I know Merlin for the man he is. I know how much he has sacrificed and continues to sacrifice for me and for Camelot. I know his love for my people and his compassion for those in need. I have seen how far he will go in the name of friendship and have yet to find an end to his loyalty.

This man who kneels before me is my brother in all but blood. I would willingly lay down my life for him and I know he would do the same for me. He deserves so much more than I could ever give him, but being my second in command will have to do."

"You must be joking," Eddard, the hedgehog man, said. "Nothing like this has ever been done before. He is just a servant, for gods sake."

"Do not presume to know anything about him," Arthur said softly. "Merlin is no mere servant, my friends. He is a king among men and I hope you will treat him that way."

"Arthur," Merlin began.

"Honestly, Merlin," Arthur said in exasperation, staring down at his friend in disbelief. "How many times must I ask you to hush?"

"Sorry, please continue."

"As I was saying, I understand your concerns, but my decision will not be changed. From this day forth Merlin, my friend and brother, will be known as the Right Hand of the king. He will serve as ruler in my absence and in the event of my death, if no heir is apparent, he will rule until a suitable heir can be found. His word will be as good as my own and as such he will serve as a protector of Camelot and of all things good in this world. Do you accept this task, Merlin?"

"I do, sire."

"And do you swear to honor my name through your actions? To protect those that cannot protect themselves? To be honest and loyal and true for as long as you may live?"

"I swear it, Arthur."

"And do you swear loyalty to me? To serve me as friend and king for the rest of your days?"

"You know I will, Arthur."

"Merlin, you have to swear it."

"Oh, sorry, I'm new at this sort of thing and I—"

"Merlin, only you could bungle this up so completely."

"Sorry, sorry. I swear it, Arthur."

He could feel the stares, some disapproving and others not, hot on his back, but above all of that he felt his friend's grin as he tapped him lightly on each shoulder with his sword.

"Then arise," Arthur said loudly. "Merlin, Right Hand of the King. Arise and meet your destiny."


	9. Arguments, Promises, and Fuzzy Tongues

**Author's Note: **_Second chapter to make up for my long absence. Please, PLEASE, PLEASE review!_

Arthur was allowed to bask in the glow of his friend's happiness for a total of a minute. He helped Merlin to his feet and the two men grinned at each other like fools. The entire hall was silent in what Arthur would like to believe was respect, but figured was something more along the lines of shock. At that particular point in time he was disinclined to care which and was secretly glad that he could share such a pivotal moment in his friend's life.

Of course, a minute later, Merlin had to ruin that moment. Arthur wasn't entirely sure what he'd been attempting, but regardless of his intentions he managed to flub it up in a way only Merlin could. He stepped sideways slightly, perhaps forgetting the uneven stone that had surprised many a foot, and tripped over the chair. He hit the table, hands flying out to catch himself, and in his attempt to break his fall managed to knock over the flagon of wine and a great deal of the cups on their side of the table that the night servants had so thoughtfully placed for their use. The red liquid splashed out of the silver pitcher and flowed steadily across the table and dripped on the floor with gusto.

The cups, refusing to be outdone by the wine, clanged to the floor with an almighty crash of silver. They bounced once or twice, ensuring their victory over the newly polished flagon, and rolled erratically around the stone before finally coming to a halt. Suddenly, all was silent, save for the drops of wine falling sporadically from the table.

Merlin straightened and turned to face him, attempting to blush and pale at the same time. He opened his mouth as if to say something then promptly closed it, shook his head once and looked at the floor in embarrassment. Arthur was desperately trying to think of something that would ease his friend's mortification, but before he could do so Merlin turned to face the court, posture surprisingly confident.

"That wine had it coming," he said knowingly and Arthur barked out a laugh.

He was glad to see answering smiles among various members of the court and he felt the tension in the room drop. His friend grinned back at him sheepishly and shrugged as if to say, "what did you expect?"

"Let me see if I understand this correctly," Yamish growled, struggling to rise his ample girth from his chair. "You expect us to believe that you, not only put our lives in the hands of a warlock, but that a clumsy one at that. I would leave Camelot before I see such filth anywhere but on a pyre."

"Then leave," Arthur replied calmly. "Nobody is stopping you."

" King Arthur," Eddard sighed. "This decision was made without the approval of the court and—"

"So what," the blond haired man named Gregor said loudly. "He's the king, Sir Eddard, or had you forgotten? The decisions he has made in the past have proven to be in line with what's best for the people and I for one am inclined to give him the benefit of the doubt on this one."

"Here, here," Sir Rowan cried, his waifish beard quivering in excitement.

"I will not stand for such nonsense," Sir Ewan bellowed, eyes narrowed in dislike, red eyebrows bunched together like bushy caterpillars. "If Uther could see this, boy."

"Boy," Arthur said quietly. "Did you just address me as boy, Ewan?"

"No sire," Ewan stammered. "I merely meant—"

"I understand quite well what you meant, Sir Ewan. Call me that again and I'll show you just how much of a boy I am not, is that clear?"

"Yes, sire. I only meant that Uther would never stand for such a thing."

"My father was blind," Arthur replied loudly. "He was a great king in many ways, but he could not see past his hatred and his sorrow. Magic took my mother's life, true enough, but I happen to believe that it was not the witch's intention to do so. My father could not see this and he allowed his grief to overrule his judgment, sparking a war that would last for almost thirty years.

I am tired of fighting a war that needn't be fought, my friends. I am left wondering how many of our foes could have been allies if we had been more tolerant and seen them for what they really are…people. Many of them had loved ones taken from them for practicing harmless magic. My own sister was driven to a hatred beyond imagining because she was forced to fear for her life simply because she existed."

"Can you hear this madness," Yamish yelled. "Here he is defending them—"

"I am not defending them," Arthur interrupted firmly. "Their actions were their own and they chose to commit evil. I am simply observing that such acts could have been avoided if they had been met with acceptance rather than with hatred."

"Listen to yourself," Yamish snarled. "You are not the king we've come to know. I'll slit the warlock's throat myself if I have to, but I will not stand for such—"

"What you will do," Merlin said harshly. "Is sit down, shut up, and listen."

"You dare speak to me in such a manner," Yamish growled.

"I do," the warlock replied. "We don't have time for bias idiots like yourself. At this very moment we face an evil the likes of which we have never seen. And instead of planning our defense we sit here and argue like fools."

"What is he talking about, sire?" Sir Rowan asked, beard drooping as he frowned.

"Merlin can explain it better," Arthur answered. "He has a better understanding of the forces beyond our world than I do. I ask that you give him your utmost attention and respect. You may not trust him, but I do and for now that will have to do."

"He has my attention at least," Sir Rowan said, turning his eyes to the warlock.

The rest of the court followed shortly after, some grudgingly and others willingly, but after a few moments Merlin had everyone's attention. Arthur pretended not to notice his friend's squeezing fists or the way he rubbed at his temples absently as if trying to work the pain out of his skull. The king knew his friend was experiencing the beginning of one of his migraines and he fervently hoped that it would not hinder the warlock greatly.

"I know all of this is sudden," Merlin began, wincing slightly as he looked directly at a torch. "I also know that many of you do not like me and you are more than welcome to your opinion, but I ask that you put aside any misgivings and think only of Camelot's well being and the safety of the people within her lands.

The entity we currently face are called Shadow Spirits and are unlike anything we have ever faced before. They are cruel, calculating, and above all—"

Arthur watched as Merlin explained the enemies they would soon be fighting and his plan for vanquishing them. As the young man spoke, confident and sure, Arthur could see his words swaying all but the most obdurate members of the court in his direction. They asked questions and Merlin answered them the best that he could, but Arthur could tell that his headache was beginning to distract him. His answers were clipped and he often had to pause before replying, as if having to get the answer clear in his head before releasing it out into the world.

The hours passed and the sun began to shine through the stained window, casting cheery oblongs of blues, gold, reds and greens across the stone. Arthur knew that Merlin was at his breaking point, but the warlock merely grit his teeth and continued.

"I know that I am asking you to put a lot of faith in me," Merlin said slowly. "But I wouldn't do so unless I was completely confident that my plan has a significant chance of working. I know it's not a guarantee, but it is the best I can offer."

"He's honest," Sir Ewan grunted. "I'll give the bastard that."

"I'm trusting him," Gregor said. "You can count on my men to fight, Merlin. They aren't much, but they'll fight to the end."

"And mine," Sir Rowan barked. "A hundred strong. They can be here within a day, armed and ready."

"That's wonderful," Merlin grinned. "We thank you for your willingness to help."

"I don't like you," Sir Ewan growled. "But I don't have to like you to fight beside you, now do I? That's the only good thing that comes from war, I suppose. You all become brothers when you are dying and bleeding with each other. I don't have much in the way of men, but I have land with crops ripe for the harvest. I was planning on selling them, but they are yours if you want them. Heaven knows, we'll need food to feed all the refugees."

"Thank you," Merlin said softly. "I hope that I can prove my worth to you, but even if I can't I want you to know that the gesture is appreciated."

Merlin was promised a great deal of assistance over the next hour. Sir Rodrick, an old and wonderfully cheerful man promised his best horses while a young noble named Aberthol, serving in his father's place, guaranteed the use of the various catapults his father was famous for making. On and on it went until, finally, all had donated services or goods, even Yamish.

The meeting was adjourned and the court members filed out, each on his way to acquire the goods they had promised. Only Arthur, Merlin, and Gaius were left in the ringing silence of the hall. The moment the doors clanged shut Merlin slumped into the chair closest to him, bringing his hands up to cover his face.

"Merlin," Gaius said quietly. "Are you alright?"

"Just a headache," Merlin groaned, peering blearily up at them through a crack in his fingers. "It will pass. They always do."

"Merlin," Arthur said gently. "When was the last time you slept?"

"In your chair," his friend responded. "No more than six hours ago."

"That isn't what I meant," Arthur sighed. "I meant really slept."

"Oh," the young man whispered. "I'm not sure…I guess…I slept a few hours the night before this and maybe a few the night before that. I've had a lot on my mind, Arthur."

"I'm well aware," the king said drily. "Come on, girly girl. Let's get you into bed, shall we?"

"I didn't know you felt that way, Arthur. Honestly, I'm flattered, I really am, but I don't look at you that—"

"Merlin, do you value your life?"

"Very much so, Arthur."

"Then I would advise you to not finish that sentence."

"Testy, testy," Merlin muttered. "Arthur, you're the king, make the sun not shine as bright, will you?"

"I'll add it to my to do list, Merlin. Now, come on, up we go."

Merlin groaned in protest as the king pulled him to his feet. He paled significantly as he moved and had to stop for a moment, breathing heavily, trying to swallow a curse as the pain exploded behind his eyes. He swayed slightly and Arthur moved to support him.

"Arthur," Gaius said quietly. "I do not think it wise to move him yet. Give me a moment to mix a potion together, would you? It should help numb the pain somewhat, at least enough that we can move him without fear of him passing out on us."

"Good idea," Arthur said, helping Merlin sit back in the chair again.

The physician hurried from the room and Arthur was left alone with the pain afflicted warlock.

"Merlin," Arthur whispered. "Has Awen tried healing these headaches of yours recently?"

"She tries every time I get one," Merlin groaned after a moment. "It never…does any good."

"Oh," Arthur said. "That's too bad."

"You're telling me," Merlin snorted, smiling at his king through his pain.

"Does anything help?"

"Not really. Gaius's potions help for a little while, but the pain always comes back."

"You did good today, Merlin."

"I'm happy you thought so. I couldn't believe I tripped over the chair."

"Only you," Arthur sighed then barked out a laugh.

"Ouch, not so loud."

"Sorry, it's just—the look on your face, Merlin."

"I'm glad someone thought it was funny," Merlin snapped.

"Oh, come on, don't be like that. We've all made fools of ourselves one time or another."

"Not like that," Merlin muttered. "In front of the entire court, Arthur."

"Hmmm," Arthur said. "You would be surprised, Merlin. Have I ever told you about the time I threw up all over the Princess of Bors?"

"What? No, you've neglected to share this little goldmine with me. Do tell, my lord. Do tell."

"It was about a year before you came, I think. My father and the King of Bors had been planning a meeting for months to discuss a peace treaty between us. Father lectured me for weeks on how to behave myself during their stay and I certainly felt the pressure. A week before my nineteenth birthday they arrived and I was immediately smitten with the Princess Betrys. She was lovely and all throughout that week I toyed with the idea of marrying her."

"Of course you did," Merlin mumbled. "Before Gwen you flirted with just about anything that was female and human."

"Merlin, do you want to hear the story or not? I'm telling it for your benefit, you know."

"Please continue," the warlock whispered, closing his eyes.

"Anyways, my birthday was soon upon us and we all had a fantastic evening. The food was delicious, the company was amusing, and the wine…well, the wine was deceivingly sweet. I'm afraid to say I drank a bit too much, but when the Princess asked me to dance I couldn't very well say no. I didn't want to do anything to offend our guests so I danced."

"Oh dear," Merlin groaned.

"It was after the second dance that I began to feel a bit queasy, but Betrys wouldn't take no for an answer and I found myself dancing again. It didn't take long for my stomach to rebel and well, I think you know the rest of the story from there."

"That's awful," Merlin said. "Poor Princess Betrys."

"I must say she was rather graceful about the whole fiasco, but my father was furious. He locked me up in the castle for an entire month and then berated George for allowing me to drink too much. Never mind the fact that George had nothing to do with it."

"George," Merlin asked. "Was he the servant before me?"

"Yes," Arthur replied. "Gods, I was awful to him, wasn't I?"

"You were a bit of a prat, yes."

"I've never apologized for treating him the way I did. I don't even know where he is now."

"He's in the kitchens," Merlin mumbled. "He's been down there for years. I think he likes it."

"Really? I've never seen him there."

"Do you spend a lot of time in the kitchens, Arthur?"

"No, but—"

"Then you wouldn't have seen him, now would you? I, however, have spent a great deal of time down in the kitchens."

"Well, you won't have to anymore. From now on, you'll dine with me."

"That ought to be interesting. Who will serve it to us, do you think? With me promoted you are out a servant."

"Perhaps I'll ask George to come back. I can apologize to him then."

"You won't need to, you know."

"Why wouldn't I?"

"Because…people like us…we don't want apologies, Arthur. They don't really mean anything. We want to be treated right, that's all. That's all any servant really wants."

"Merlin the wise," Arthur whispered.

"More like Merlin the wiseass," Merlin smirked.

"Yes, that to I suppose. Are you feeling any better?"

"No," the young man sighed. "Not in the slightest."

"Merlin," Arthur said cautiously. "Do you really think your plan will work?"

"I don't know," Merlin replied. "I hope so."

"And if it doesn't?"

"Then I'll do whatever I can to keep you and the rest of Camelot safe."

"You won't be alone, Merlin. I'll stand with you."

"I know, Arthur. I know."

The two men lapsed into silence until Gaius returned, clutching a rather grimy looking potion bottle in his bony hands. The potion itself was a pretty blue and when the physician removed the cork Arthur was hit with the faint smell of lavender and rose petals.

"Now, why couldn't all potions smell like that," he mused, watching with a cautious eye as the old man helped Merlin into a better potion drinking position.

"Don't let it fool you," Merlin gasped after the first swallow. "It looks pretty, but it tastes awful. I don't think Gaius is capable of making a good tasting potion."

"Oh, I am," the old man grumbled. "I just choose not to in order for you to have something to complain about."

"Crafty," Merlin muttered, swallowing the final mouthful. "Crafty and evil, Gaius."

"Perhaps," Gaius replied, catching his ward as he slumped forward in his chair. "How are you feeling, Merlin?"

"Woozy," Merlin slurred in reply. "The world's spinning, Gaius. I didn't know you could do that. I really wish you'd stop."

"What's happening to him," Arthur said in alarm.

"Everything is fine, sire," Gaius said soothingly. "The potion makes him act a bit strangely, but it does its job well enough. Once he gets some sleep he'll be better. You'll need to help him to his chambers though. He won't be able to walk straight on his own."

"Right," Arthur replied uncertainly, eyeing his brain-addled friend with something akin to trepidation. "And where will you be?"

"Gathering medical supplies, sire. I'm guessing we will need them."

"Of course, of course. Silly of me to ask."

"Arthur," Gaius said.

"Yes?"

"Once you get him to bed perhaps you should think about sleeping yourself. You don't look good."

"I will see what I can do."

Gaius nodded approvingly and left once more. Arthur turned back to Merlin who had slumped back rather comically in his chair.

"Come on," Arthur said, gripping the young man firmly by the shoulders. "The sooner we get you moving the sooner this will be over."

"I like it here," Merlin grunted as he was forced to rise. "Stop pushing, Arthur. You are a king and kings don't push."

Arthur managed to maneuver himself beneath his friend so that he was supporting the majority of his weight. They managed to shuffle across the throne room well enough and they slowly worked their way through the hall, Merlin jabbering nonsense the entire time.

"My tongue feels fuzzy," the warlock slurred. "Feel it, Arthur. Doesn't it feel fuzzy?"

"I'm not feeling your tongue, Merlin."

"If Gwaine were here he would feel my tongue."

"Well, as soon as I get you into bed you can call him and the two of you can feel each others tongues all day if you'd like."

"Arthur, that's disgusting. I only need him to feel it once. Just so I can see if it's fuzzy or not."

"Even when you're drugged you are still a pain in my ass," Arthur grumbled, glad to see the young man's chambers directly down the hall.

"You said ass," Merlin grunted.

"Yes, Merlin, I said ass."

"You said it again."

"Oh, for heaven's sake. I said I'd die for you, Merlin. This was never in the job description."

"My tongue still feels fuzzy."

Arthur opened the door with his free hand and somehow managed to maneuver the two of them through it and into the large room where Merlin now presided. Awen was waiting for them and she strode quickly across the room to release Arthur from his burden.

"Oh my Myrddin," she whispered to him, helping him over to the bed. "What am I going to do with you?"

"Awen," Merlin murmured as he rested his head back against the pillows. "Arthur said ass."

The Fair Folk woman turned to look back at him with a wicked grin and he rolled his eyes.

"Apparently his tongue is fuzzy as well. He asked me to check it for him, but I figured you would be a more likely candidate for tongue fuzz duty than I would."

"Thank you for thinking of me," Awen said drily, sitting beside her warlock, the man already fast asleep.

"Anytime, Awen. I try to always think of others before myself, you know."

"I know," the woman said, running her fingers through Merlin's hair. "I heard what you did for him, Arthur. I wanted to thank you."

"Don't thank me," Arthur replied. "I owe everything to Merlin. He deserved to be recognized."

"Still," Awen whispered. "It meant a lot and I think you've given him strength. Heaven knows he'll need it."

"Will he be alright," Arthur asked, feeling slightly uncomfortable at the Fair Folk woman's praise.

"Yes," Awen smiled. "In time he will be."

"Good," Arthur said, edging his way towards the door. "Tell him to find me when he wakes."

The woman nodded absently, still trailing her fingers through the warlock's shadow black locks. Arthur closed the door quietly, but not before he heard Awen's whisper to his unconscious friend.

"Myrddin," she said. "Your plan better work because if you die I don't know what I'll do."

Arthur understood exactly what she meant. If Merlin died, well…part of him would die as well, but Merlin wouldn't die. Would he?


	10. Your Mother and Mine

**Author's Note: **_Hello everyone! Thank you so much for the reviews…they helped out a great deal. I really needed the motivation and now that you all have provided that I have not only decided how I want this story to end (which I think will be epic by the way), but have also come up with the next story in the series. I am probably going to keep writing them until I get bored of it. Thoughts? Suggestions? Inquiring minds would like to know. So, here is the next chapter! It is going to be a long one. Hope you enjoy and PLEASE REVIEW!_

Hunith had never grown up believing in love at first sight. Life was hard in the border villages and a child learned early on that flights of fancy and daydreams often led to an early grave. This was why, of course, she had been so surprised at how quickly she fell for the troubled stranger who had suddenly appeared within their midst.

At first she convinced herself that she was merely curious. The man was a bit of an anomaly, after all. Folks tended to gravitate away from the humdrum life of a border villager, but this man, for whatever reason, had left what must have been an easier path and traded it for one of hard work and sweat.

Curiosity, that was all. Or so she told herself, but every time she saw him she felt a glow in her belly and her heartbeat quickened. He had hardly spoken to her, or anyone for that matter, but his quiet strength and gentle smile called to her in a way that poetic words never could. Yet she still refused to believe what she felt was love and would have continued doing so had it not been for a rainy night and a particularly cheeky cow.

It had been a cold night and would have chilled the stoutest of people to the bone, even if it hadn't been raining. The rain only added an extra layer of misery to the night's already heavily cloaked despair. Ipa, her one and only milk cow, had been spooked by the horrendous clashes of thunder and had run off and though wolves were uncommon sights upon the flat plains of the border villages they were not unheard of. Hunith would be damned if she lost a key component to her survival to a mangy canine.

She would have walked all night had she not turned her ankle and fell face first into a rather muddy ravine. She had tried to get back up, but kept slipping in the slick, rain drenched dirt. She sat down tiredly and the mud made an unpleasant squelching noise beneath her. Her teeth were chattering and she had lost the feeling in her fingers and toes. If she didn't make it out of there she would freeze to death for sure.

Luck, however, was on her side. Not more than fifteen minutes after she had fallen she heard the deep baritone of the stranger from Camelot and, after she had identified herself, had been carried from the ravine and back to her house as if she weighed no more than an infant.

That had been the night that Hunith had learned the stranger's true origin and power. It had been the night that she finally admitted her feelings for the man. It had been the night that she had passed from a girl into a woman. And it had been the night her son was conceived.

Hunith didn't know she was pregnant, of course. At least not for the two glorious months she had spent with Balinor. They had been happy and would have remained so had Uther's hatred not caught up to them both. The Dragon Lord had never even said goodbye, not in person anyway, but had left a heartfelt letter that brought Hunith to tears for the first time in a long time.

It was only a month after his departure that Hunith discovered his last parting gift to her. A druid woman, heavy with her own unborn child, and her husband had passed through her village in search of a safe place to settle down, free from the unforgiving eye of the King of Camelot. The woman had put a gentle hand to Hunith's belly and smiled, green eyes bright with hope.

"A son," she had said. "You carry a son."

"No," Hunith replied, shaking her head. "You must be mistaken, I—"

"I am never wrong," the woman whispered, lips still curved into a shy, impish grin. "He will have your eyes, I think."

"There is no child," Hunith had replied bitterly.

"You will see," the woman said. "You will see."

And she had seen and with her sudden sight she felt a great bitterness fall from her shoulders. She threw herself into preparing for the birth of her child and when Merlin had squalled for the first time Hunith thought she had never heard a more beautiful sound. As she cradled him close to her she couldn't help but notice the babes dark blue eyes that matched her own.

For the first seven months of his life Merlin had seemed like a normal, healthy baby. He cooed and spit and gummed anything he could get his grubby fingers on and had been the most inquisitive infant Hunith had ever seen. It wasn't until Merlin's eighth month that Hunith's illusion of normalcy was shattered. Suddenly, Merlin delighted in hovering his rattle in midair, his ocean blue eyes flashing briefly into a honey gold. He giggled delightedly at the prospect of gliding his spoonful of whatever vegetable Hunith had mashed into his open, tooth speckled mouth.

After that Hunith couldn't remember a time that she hadn't been running around after her son, trying to keep him from trouble. It had been difficult for Merlin to understand why his gifts had to remain secret and it had nearly broken Hunith's heart to have to keep his talents locked away, hidden like some dirty secret. It had gotten easier as the boy grew older, but she knew that her son had consistently felt alienated and alone.

She wished, of course, that Balinor could see the power his son wielded. If anyone could have helped him understand just who and what he was it would have been Merlin's father, but the man was gone and had not been heard from since his disappearance. Hunith did not know whether the man was alive or dead and couldn't see any point in telling her son about a man who could never be anything to him but a broken fantasy.

Things might have been fine if her son hadn't told young Will about his powers. She had been furious when she had found out and knew that the time for her son to seek more knowledge about his uncanny talents was upon them. She had sent him to Camelot with a heart heavy with both worry and excitement and she hoped that he would find the place he truly belonged.

Of course, she had never expected that place to be at Prince Arthur's side. Leave it to Merlin to naturally gravitate towards the one person that was most dangerous to him. She had been terrified for him and had only been appeased after meeting the young prince for the first time when he had come to their rescue. Their friendship had come as quite a shock to her, but she had taken it in stride because Merlin had seemed happier than she had ever seen him. Besides, if Merlin was to be believed, their destinies were tightly entwined.

Every time she had seen her son since then the two men had only seemed closer. Hunith was proud that Merlin had found a friend as good as Arthur and though the king had a difficult time showing his affection there was no doubt in Hunith's mind that it existed. Of course, a year had passed since she had last seen her son and as she stood upon the castle steps her heart ached with longing.

Merlin did not know she was here and she imagined the look on his face when he saw her. She only wished that she could have brought happy tidings with her, but that was not to be. She had news to give to Arthur that would be a matter of life and death to the king and the thousand refugees that were slowly making their way to seek shelter within Camelot's walls.

"Hunith?" the king asked in surprise, as if Hunith's thoughts had summoned him. "My god, Hunith, what are you doing here?"

"My lord," she whispered, turning to face him and kneeling. "It is good to see you again."

"None of that," Arthur chastised, pulling Hunith to her feet. "You do not kneel to me, Hunith. And call me Arthur. Please."

"My apologies," she murmured. "I have grave news, Arthur. There is an army heading this way. I believe they mean to attack Camelot."

"I know," Arthur said grimly, his jaw clenching tightly. "We've already begun planning our defense."

"Then you know that they aren't human?"

"Yes, I'm well aware of that as well. Luckily, I have more than one secret weapon at my disposal. One willing and one, well, she's still up for debate."

"Arthur," Hunith whispered. "Please tell me you have made arrangements for refugees."

"We have a plan in place," Arthur replied, studying her face closely. "Why? What do you know?"

"There are over a thousand refugees," Hunith answered quietly. "Most of them women and children. They raided Ealdor four days ago. There is almost nothing left and the stories are the same everywhere."

"A thousand," Arthur breathed, face paling. "Gods, I don't—how will we ever feed them all? We have enough food for a few hundred at most, but a thousand?"

"If you must turn them away I believe they will understand," Hunith whispered.

"Not a chance," Arthur growled. "They are looking to me for protection and I will give them that. They are my people, Hunith. I will not abandon them in their hour of need."

"And what of us that come from lands beyond your reach? You owe us nothing."

"Perhaps not, but I won't be sending anyone away," Arthur said fiercely. "I don't care where you are from or who you have sworn fealty to. My offer of protection extends to anyone."

"You are a good man," Hunith smiled. "My son was right about you."

"Merlin," the king suddenly exclaimed, slapping his hand to his face. "Ah, I keep forgetting about him. Hunith, do you think Merlin could some sort of food spell? You know, do his little eye flash thing and make the food storage double or something?"

"I'm sorry," Hunith rasped, heart trying to claw its way up her throat. "What did you just say?"

"Merlin doing a little food magic," Arthur replied, expression a curious mix of concern and confusion. "I mean, I've seen him work some pretty powerful spells so I figure that maybe he can—"

"He told you," Hunith whispered, suddenly feeling very dizzy. "He really told you."

"You mean—you didn't know," Arthur said, appalled. "But, I thought that he—Merlin, you idiot. Hunith, he was supposed to write to you."

"How," the woman croaked. "How did you find out?"

"Er," Arthur mumbled, suddenly looking like he wanted to be anywhere else. "Hunith, I don't think I'm the person who should really tell you about—"

"Please, Arthur."

"Well, it was a bit of an accident really. He saved my life and then we sort of talked it over and that was that."

"You are no better at lying to me than he is," Hunith snorted. "What really happened, Arthur? Is my son alright?"

"He's Merlin," Arthur said, evading her question. "When is he ever alright?"

"Arthur, I need to know if my son is okay. Please, just tell me he his okay."

"I'm fine, mother," her son said softly, putting a gentle hand on her shoulder and spinning her into a tight hug.

When Hunith pulled back to look at her son she couldn't decide whether his appearance or the appearance of the woman standing beside him shocked her more. Her son had grown thinner, if such a thing were possible, and there were dark bruise-like shadows beneath eyes muddied with exhaustion. He looked fragile, but his grin was there and it was unmistakably Merlin.

The woman standing beside him was obviously not human and was obviously in love with her son. Her long, slender hand fit perfectly into Merlin's and the moment they touched her son's grin widened. His blue eyes were filled with contentment and Hunith got the strange idea that if Merlin were a cat he would be purring.

"Mother," Merlin whispered, sensing Hunith's questioning glance. "This is Awen. She's my—well, she's my—she's—"

"We're lovers," Awen finished, watching in amusement as Merlin blushed furiously.

"Lovers," he groaned. "You had to go with lovers? It sounds so…blech!"

"Blech isn't a word," Arthur pointed out, taking obvious joy out of his friend's nervous squirming.

"Don't make me curse you," Merlin said pointedly, raising his eyebrows at his king.

"Merlin," Hunith cried, shocked. "You can't say something like that."

"Why not? I threaten to curse him all the time. Don't I, Arthur?"

"It's true," Arthur grinned. "Although, he's too much of a coward to actually go through with it."

"You just wait," Merlin laughed. "One of these days Gwen will be waking up beside a hedgehog or something equally demeaning."

"The whole world has gone mad," Hunith whispered. "Stark raving mad!"

"What was that, mother?"

"Merlin, how could you not tell me about this? This is obviously not a new development for you two if your childish bickering is any indication. How long has Arthur known?"

"Almost six months," Merlin answered, at least having the decency to look guilty.

"Six months? He's known for six months and you haven't mentioned it once in your letters?"

"I wanted to tell you," Merlin said earnestly. "But…"

"But?"

"But you would have asked how he found out and I just…I wasn't ready to talk about that yet."

"And now?"

"I don't know, mother. It's…it's not a pleasant story."

"Were you hurt?"

"Yes."

"How badly?"

"Mother—"

"It was bad," Arthur suddenly blurted. "Very, very bad."

"Arthur," Merlin hissed, glaring daggers at his friend.

"She's your mother," the king replied, unconcerned with Merlin's anger. "She deserves to know and I could already tell you were going to downplay the whole thing. You always do that, you know."

"You can't just—"

"Merlin, I know you are a bit dense and have a habit of forgetting things so I will remind you that I am the king."

"Your point?"

"I can do and say whatever I would like to, Merlin, and there isn't a damn thing you can do about it."

"Prat."

"Clotpole."

"Royal assho—"

"Boys," Hunith snapped. "Enough of that. Honestly, how the two of you run this kingdom I'll never know."

Hunith nearly laughed when both men turned to look at her sheepishly, but managed to hold her disapproving frown in place.

"Arthur, Awen," Hunith said, gripping her son's upper arm tightly. "Please excuse us for a moment. We have a lot to talk about."

"I would imagine," Arthur replied. "Hunith, after you are done chatting with Merlin I would really like to speak with you about the refugee situation and all that you know about our demon friends."

"Of course, Arthur. I am more than glad to help in any way that I can."

"Thank you," the king said, nodding at her curtly and flipping Merlin a rather antagonizing smile. "Don't be too hard on him, Hunith. I need him in one piece if that's alright."

He left in a hurry and was followed by the inhumanly beautiful woman who kept a watchful gaze on Merlin's face as she went. There seemed to be some sort of unspoken conversation taking place because Merlin nodded slightly then grinned at her. She smiled back then turned her head and did not look back again.

"Are you angry with me," Merlin asked Hunith suddenly, sitting down on the far side of the castle steps with his head in his hands.

"No," Hunith answered. "I just don't know why you wouldn't tell me something like this, Merlin. You've been waiting for this moment you're whole life and now that it's here you don't even want me to know."

"It wasn't that, mother. Honestly, I wanted to tell you, but I knew you would worry. I went through hell and I didn't want you to know about it until I'd figured things out."

"What happened, Merlin?"

"I can't," Merlin whispered, expression agonized. "I was tortured, mother. I felt pain that I didn't even think possible and I just can't talk about it without feeling it all over again. I relive it enough in my dreams. I don't want to relive it when I'm awake as well."

"Tortured," Hunith whispered, trying to wrap her mind around her only son being physically and mentally tormented. "By who?"

"It's hard to explain," Merlin mumbled. "Please don't make me try."

"Alright," Hunith agreed softly. "You don't have to tell me until you are ready, Merlin. I understand."

"Thank you," he whispered, leaning into her and sighing when she wrapped her arms around him. "I missed you."

"I missed you more," she replied, kissing the top of his head. "Tell me about the Awen girl."

Merlin was more than happy to share whatever information he could think of when it came to the Awen girl. He touched briefly on her role in defeating the monstrosity that had dared harm her son, but filled whatever void had been left by amusing tales and facts about the woman he loved.

"She sounds lovely," Hunith said once he was finished.

"She is, mother. I really think you'll like her."

She smiled then looked up at the sky, watching as the sun made its last bid for dominancy in the west.

"It's getting late," she told Merlin. "We should be getting in. We have a lot to talk about."

Merlin helped her up and she stretched, her back muscles tight from sitting on the castle steps for over an hour. Together they walked towards the king's chambers, chatting mildly about various topics. Hunith was warmed by how many servants, knights, and noble men greeted her son with friendly words and even friendlier smiles.

"Ah, just in time," Arthur exclaimed when they entered the throne room. "Please sit down, you two. Unfortunately my wife will not be joining us, but there is a fantastic dinner to be had."

"Thank you," Hunith said softly, sitting down beside her son and staring at a large plate full of roasted pheasant, fresh strawberries, cooked squash, and three fat sausages. To her right stood the largest assortment of pastries she had ever seen.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Merlin's eyes flash gold and moments later heard the king's exasperated sigh.

"Merlin," he snapped. "Why do you insist upon playing this game every time I sit down to eat? And haven't we talked about what constitutes a productive use of a spell?"

"I haven't done anything," Merlin said.

"Merlin, you took my sausages! Again!"

"No, I haven't."

"Yes, you did."

"No, I haven't."

"Yes, you—oh, never mind."

"Merlin," Hunith chastised, shooting her son a disparaging look. "Give the king back his sausages."

"I didn't take anything," Merlin exclaimed. "I think we have more important things to discuss than disappearing sausages, don't we?"

"I saw your eyes flash gold," Arthur grumbled. "You did to take them."

"I was casting a muffling spell," Merlin snapped irritably. "There are prying ears everywhere, Arthur. And even more important there are prying minds."

"Whatever you say, Merlin. Whatever you say."

"Gentleman," Hunith interrupted gently. "I believe there are refugees we need to discuss."

"Yes," Arthur said grimly, sucking the last morsel of meat from a pheasant bone before tossing it haphazardly at Merlin's face. "Where are we going to put them all?"

"That's easy," Merlin yawned. "In the caves below the castle, sire."

"What caves, Merlin? There are no caves."

"Sure there are, Arthur."

"Merlin, I know this castle like the back of my hand. There are no caves."

"So I just imagined Kilgarrah flying around in a giant cavern, did I?"

"Shut-up, Merlin."

"The cavern wouldn't work," Merlin continued, ignoring his king. "There is a giant chasm right in the middle of it, but one of the surrounding caves might work. I could open a gateway in the rock then shut it again once we get everyone inside."

"How many could it hold, do you think?"

"A great deal more than a thousand, Arthur. Those caves are huge."

"The question is whether or not you'll have time to get them all in," Hunith said. "The demons are not far behind them, my lord. They send out hunting parties at night and even with a thousand of us there are dozens missing in the morning."

"Hunting parties," Arthur repeated, turning slightly green. "Are you saying they are hunting people, Hunith? For what purpose?"

"I think…well, I think they eat them," Hunith whispered, trying to block the memory of their agonized screams from her mind.

Arthur was quiet for a long time, but his jaw clenched savagely and Hunith was mildly concerned that the lad would eventually break his teeth. His eyes were hard and cold. Whoever that gaze landed upon would be very sorry indeed.

Merlin gripped her hand tightly and when she looked at him his expression was one she rarely saw upon her son's face. The warlock was furious, there was no doubt about that, but the quiet rage he now exhibited was somehow far more primal and dangerous than any Hunith had ever encountered. There was no pity in the tension of his shoulders, no mercy in the contours of his clenched jaw.

"Merlin," Arthur rasped after a moment. "I hope your plan works, old friend. I want nothing more than to see these bastards burn."

"I'll make it work," Merlin replied quietly. "If it's the last thing I do, Arthur."

"This plan of yours," Hunith said. "Is it dangerous?"

Merlin studied her face for a moment as if gauging whether he should be honest with her or not. She knew he was only trying to spare her worry, but the idea that her son might lie to her after all these years angered her. He must have seen the fury in her eyes, however, for he sighed and gripped her hand even tighter than before.

"It will be very dangerous," he answered softly. "There is a very good chance I'll be killed, but it doesn't change what needs to be done in any way. This is what I was made for, mother. I was given magic so I could help people and that is precisely what I mean to do."

"I understand, Merlin. As your mother I cannot say that I am entirely pleased with the idea of you being in harms way, but I am also very proud of you for your bravery. Your father would be proud to."

"Yes," Arthur said impatiently. "We are all very proud of Merlin, but we have a war to plan for. Hunith, what can you tell me about them? We have some information, but it doesn't come from an entirely trusted source."

"They have no souls," Hunith said before she could stop herself. "I'm sorry, I know that is not the information you meant, but it is true none the less. They kill because the enjoy it, Arthur and they do not differentiate between children and adults. It is all meat to them. They are calculating and organized to a fault. They will not attack Camelot recklessly and they will not make it easy for you to find their weak points, if any are to be had."

For some odd reason Arthur was grinning at her. It was a dangerous smile, all pointed teeth and sharp edges. She turned to her son and found a similar curve on his lips.

"What are you two grinning about," she asked sharply.

"Hunith," Arthur said quietly. "You just told me exactly what I wanted to hear."

"What?"

"The second part of our plan," Merlin explained. "You see, while Kilgarrah and I are working our magic, Arthur will be attempting to keep the demons busy long enough for me to do what I need to. I can't expel magic over the entire city; the mere effort of it would kill me. So I need a specific area to target. Arthur will be providing that by confronting them and keeping them in that area."

"And the information I gave you helps you how?"

"You said they were organized," Arthur said fiercely. "The one downfall of organization, Hunith, is that it is predictable. It's like a dance, do you see?"

"No," Hunith replied. "Not at all."

"A dance has premeditated moves," Arthur informed her. "Once you know those moves you can match them with your own. War is much the same, you see. There are premeditated countermeasures that every defending city takes, just as there are premeditated measures an attacking city takes. And, just like a dance, the slightest improvisation or unexpected move can bring the whole plan crumbling down. That is precisely what I mean to do."

"And how will you accomplish this," Hunith asked.

"They'll expect us to fight them from the walls of Camelot," Merlin answered. "They will plan on meeting us at the gates, but we won't be there. In fact, we won't be in the Lower Town at all, at least not as far as they'll be able to see."

"I don't understand," Hunith said. "You are just going to let them in?"

"That's exactly what we are going to do," Arthur said quietly. "The best place to fight is on ground you know and offers a great deal of obstacles. As long as you know these obstacles it is no problem, but for those who don't…well…it gets complicated rather quickly. Besides, they won't ever see us coming."

"And why is that?"

"They'll be invisible," Merlin said, a note of pride in his voice. "Thanks to me, of course. The Shadow Spirits will never see them."

"Can you do that, Merlin? Can you hold two spells at once?"

"I won't have to," Merlin replied. "I've enchanted various articles of clothing or jewelry that the men will wear. Once they have been put on the spell will start to work. It's residual magic and won't last forever, but it will last long enough for our purposes."

"And what about noise? Smell? Just because they can't see doesn't mean they can't hear."

"Your son is really quite a brilliant battle planner," Arthur drawled confidently. "He's already thought of that as well. Each of my men will be covered in mud which should mask most of the scents and as for the sound Merlin has provided us with a rather marvelous distraction."

"Two dragons can cause quite the uproar," Merlin grinned.

"Why don't the dragons simply take care of them?"

"It doesn't work that way," Merlin grimaced. "They are impervious to flames, from what we understand. And any other magic the dragons posses has to be grounded by a living vessel."

"But Excalibur—"

"Is a sword, yes, mother, but objects work differently. They are unchanging you see and have a specific place within the mortal world. There is no other worldliness to them and they can therefor be changed at will. A dragon cannot alter the nature of something with a soul because it has ties to a different world. We can only be vessels. Besides, there is no way we could be sure that they took care of all the demons. It has to be this way."

"And I take it that you are going to volunteer to be this vessel?"

"That is the general plan, yes. Kilgarrah will use the same magic he did on the sword and use me to direct it onto the target area."

"And the risks?"

"It's powerful magic, mother. I may not be entirely mortal, but power of that magnitude could easily kill me."

"And how will you not kill the men that are fighting?"

"We'll alter the magic," Merlin replied. "Instead of targeting life it will target death. The demons are alive, but the corpses they are using are not. It may not destroy them, but it will certainly send them back to whatever dark place they came from."

"Well," Hunith said shakily. "It certainly seems you two have given this a lot of thought."

"We have," Arthur replied. "I know it's a long shot, but it's something and that's all we can ask for."

"And my son? You are willing to sacrifice his life?"

"Mother," Merlin yelped, looking from Hunith to Arthur. "That's not how it is at all! Arthur is—"

"Hush Merlin," Arthur said quietly, before turning to face her. "Hunith, I know that I haven't always been there for Merlin and I know that it must have been difficult for you, knowing that your son put himself in harms way for a man who didn't appreciate it. But, I hope you understand that as a king I have to put my people before anyone else, no matter how I feel about them. If anything were to happen to Merlin I—well, I don't know what kind of man I would be without him. But, it doesn't change duty, Hunith. I want nothing more than to keep him by my side and protect him with my life, but I can't. Merlin understands that. Can you?"

"I understand duty," Hunith said softly. "And I understand that my son does what he does because he is good and kind and wishes only to help. But…he is blind when it comes to you, Arthur. He would follow you into hell if you asked it of him. Do you ever think that you ask too much?"

"Every day," the king replied softly.

"Then you have my blessing," Hunith whispered. "But know this, Arthur. If my son is taken from me I will never forgive you. It may not be much, but I thought you should know."


	11. 2 Can Keep a Secret if One of Us is Dead

**Author's Note: **_PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE REVIEW! I NEED REVIEWS OR I WILL NEVER GET THIS STORY DONE! Anyways, now that my Oscar winning performance is complete I shall inform you that this is sort of a short chapter, but well worth the read. The action will be starting very soon! I hope you all enjoy and…honestly….please review!_

Morgana had always been a fitful sleeper. Even as a child, long before her adoptive father's death, she had been plagued by nightmares so horrible she had often woken two or three times a night. Her adoptive father had been the most gentle and caring man she'd ever known. He would sing her lullabies and stay with her through the night if that is what it took to lull her back to sleep.

Her sudden glimpses of the future were much less frightening now that she understood them, but she still had trouble finding sleep after they occurred. She had woken from one only moments before and was now staring up at the sky through her cell window contemplating what she had seen.

It had been Merlin, of that she was sure, but it was a Merlin she had never encountered before. This Merlin was much more like the Emrys she had seen in her previous visions. He was confident in a way Merlin had never been and she had felt herself shiver, even in her sleep. How Merlin had hid his magic from her, she would never know, though she suspected that his ability to do so spoke of the power he held.

The servant had certainly been the last person she'd ever suspected of being the elusive Emrys, although it explained why he had been a continuous thorn in her side. In her vision the young man had been filled to the brim with power, so much so that she could feel it threatening to tear him apart. He had been holding it under control, but just barely, and as the magic swelled to a blinding crescendo the young man began to lose his grasp. He had screamed her name, turning to look at her with pained eyes, and then she had woken.

She had screamed out her frustration and a young guard had peered cautiously around the corner, as if she might smite him with a glance. She was half tempted to spit out a spell just to scare the lad, knowing whatever magical barrier Merlin had made would vanquish it immediately, but she held her tongue. It wasn't worth the effort or the lecture she would receive from her dear half brother. Instead she raised an eyebrow at the guard and his head quickly disappeared back around the corner.

The problem with her visions was that they never told the whole story. They gave her bits and pieces to work with and she was left to fill in the gaps. Even more frustrating was the fact that no matter what she did she could never change the outcome. Guinevere was still queen, Arthur had still been mauled by the Questing Beast and drowned by the visiting fairy masquerading as a princess, and as far as she knew Merlin could very well bring about her doom.

She was under no illusions that the warlock trusted her. His little display in the training yard had been a ruse to make her believe he had rekindled his faith in her and Morgana couldn't help but feel a grudging respect at the young man's craftiness. She had wanted, more than anything, to return to Camelot and be accepted back into the life she'd known, but now recognized the idea as a fool's dream.

Arthur would never allow her to return and would certainly never trust her implicitly. She found that she was not as angered by this as she thought she might have been. Morgana understood why her little brother did not trust her and, even more surprising, found that she didn't entirely trust herself. The hatred and rage were still present, buried for the moment, but certainly not gone. She was confident in her belief that, if she stayed in Camelot, she would eventually try her hand at removing Arthur from his throne. She would like to say that she loved her sibling far too much for such a betrayal to occur, but she had done it once knowing full well that Arthur was family. She doubted she would hesitate the second time around anymore than she had the first.

Her thoughts were interrupted by low whispers down the hall, followed by the jangle of keys and heavy boots on the stone. It was dinner time in Camelot and the pudgy night guard would be bringing Morgana her evening meal, if one could call it that. The young man was deathly afraid of her and, seeing as she had little else to do, she loved to frighten him. She rose silently to her feet and was more than a little surprised when her eyes found her brother's steely blue gaze.

"Arthur," she gasped, startled. "What are you doing here?"

"I brought dinner," the king replied softly. "I thought we could talk awhile, Morgana."

"About?"

"This and that," he replied elusively.

He slid a plate through the bars and Morgana's mouth watered. Her brother had brought her a platter of crusty bread, warm meat, and fruit with a small flagon on cinnamon tainted wine. She picked the plate off the floor and took her first bite, chewing with relish.

"Where's your guard dog," Morgana asked after a few bites.

"Who? You mean Merlin? He's with his mother figuring out a few last minute details regarding our refugee dilemma."

"Hunith is here?"

"She and about a thousand other refugees, yes."

Morgana set her plate down and studied her brother in the scant light the torches provided. He stared back impassively for a moment then frowned.

"You killed my father," he said softly.

"Yes, Arthur. I killed Uther and I cannot say I am horribly sorry for that."

"Why, Morgana? He loved you! You must know that he loved you!"

"You wouldn't blame me if you knew what I know, Arthur. If you only knew what he was responsible for."

"What are you talking about," Arthur whispered. "What was he responsible for?"

"The funny thing is you already know," Morgana replied, laughing bitterly. "You were always blind to Uther's faults, Arthur."

"Everyone has faults," Arthur said fiercely. "Our father was no different, but he could be good to. He could be kind and compassionate."

"When it suited him," Morgana snapped. "Think, Arthur. Uther only showed mercy when it helped him in some way. You must have seen how self serving he was!"

"I just don't understand how you could hate somebody so much, Morgana. He adored you and you just—you broke him."

"Who are you to judge me, Arthur Pendragon?"

"I'm his son," Arthur screamed. "And you? You were his daughter! Maybe you couldn't love him like he loved you, but you owed him—"

"I owed him nothing," Morgana snarled, forgetting herself. "Uther was a liar and a murderer, brother dearest, and even those he supposedly loved weren't safe if he wanted something badly enough. You followed him blindly, Arthur. He lied to you every day of your life and convinced you to hate magic because of a choice he made!"

"What," Arthur said, swallowing hard. "What choice?"

"Ask your precious Merlin," Morgana hissed. "He's known all along!"

"You're lying," Arthur said flatly.

"Ask him," Morgana repeated, softer than before. "You should know the entire truth before you judge me."

"And what about me then," Arthur asked, voice hard and cold. "What about Merlin? What did we do to deserve your hatred?"

"I already told you," Morgana whispered, suddenly tired. "Hating you was a mistake, Arthur. You never deserved it."

"And Merlin?"

"I don't hate Merlin," Morgana replied. "But, there is too much history for us to fix what we have, Arthur. He and I will always remain enemies to some degree. It's destined to be, after all."

"You know you can never come back here," Arthur said quietly. "If we survive this mess you will have to leave again."

"I know," she whispered. "Do you think we could ever be what we were, Arthur?"

"No," came his instant reply. "I can forgive you, but I could never trust you. Maybe before you killed my father, but now? Not a chance."

"And yet you are trusting me with Merlin," Morgana laughed. "If this plan of his works he'll be at my mercy, you know."

"I'm well aware," Arthur replied harshly. "That is what I've come to talk with you about."

"Oh? Do go on."

"The refugees should be arriving tomorrow morning and the demons will not be far behind them. Our best guess is that the battle will take place tomorrow night, which means you need to do whatever magic rituals or ceremonies or whatever in order to be ready to help him. He's going to need your strength, Morgana. I'm not sure he's up to this."

Morgana got a brief flash of the warlock, eyes heavy with pain, gasping in panicked breaths as the magic overtook him. She thought of informing her brother of what she'd seen, but kept it to herself. The vision could end in any number of ways and there was no reason to worry her brother before the fight for their lives. Besides, she wanted the element of surprise if she chose to take action against the young man. He was destined to kill her, after all. Killing him first would merely be self-defense.

"I noticed," Morgana sighed. "You've been working him too hard, Arthur."

"It has nothing to do with me," Arthur said, frowning. "He's just—he's been through a lot in recent months and it's taken its toll on him."

"Does he know you have doubts in his capabilities, Arthur?"

"No, and I swear if you mention this to him I'll—"

"You don't have to threaten me. He'll never know you doubt him."

"That isn't what I said," Arthur snapped. "I don't doubt him at all. I just…I want him back safe, Morgana. And lately he's been so distracted. Your presence hasn't helped anything, of course. He's furious with you. I don't think I have ever seen him that angry at anyone."

"I'm sure the number of times I tried to have him killed had something to do with it," Morgana snorted. "But, I have a feeling the real reason he hates me is because I tried to force him to kill you."

"He told me," Arthur sighed. "I know everything, Morgana. Why are you doing this?"

"Doing what?"

"Reminding me of all the horrible things you have done. Do you want me to hate you, Morgana? Is that it?"

"Please," she whispered. "Please hate me, Arthur."

"What?" Arthur rasped, horrified. "Why would I—"

"If you hate me then I can hate you back," she cried. "I won't have to feel so guilty all of the time!"

"I can't hate you, Morgana. If anything, I pity you."

"I don't need your pity."

"Maybe you do and maybe you don't. Either way it isn't going to change. You had so much potential, Morgana. You could have changed the world, but instead you chose the path of petty revenge. You made your choice and now you have to deal with the consequences."

"Sometimes I think I don't have a heart," Morgana whispered, rubbing her eyes as tears threatened to spill across her cheeks.

"You can never come back here," Arthur repeated after a moment's silence. "But, that doesn't mean you can't start a life somewhere else, Morgana. You can start over. That's more of a chance than most people get."

"And do what," Morgana snorted.

"I don't know," Arthur answered. "You could do anything. You could be a healer or even find love. The world is a big place, Morgana. Surely there is a spot for you in it."

"Arthur, can I ask you a question?"

"I suppose."

"Why Merlin?"

"What?"

"You hated magic, Arthur. And now it's suddenly all right?"

"It wasn't like that," Arthur said thoughtfully. "There are moments that I'm terrified of what he can do, Morgana. The power he has…it's daunting and the funny thing is that if he chose to turn on me there would be little I could do to stop him."

"But?"

"But I trust him, that's all. He can rain fire down from the heavens one moment and trip over his own feet the next. It's just Merlin, you see? He's the same loyal friend that he's always been, but has a few added perks."

"Do you think he could ever lose his way?"

"You mean, like you did?"

"Yes."

"I suppose it is a possibility," Arthur replied gravely. "But I would hate to see what happened to cause such a change to occur."

"Trust," Morgana sighed. "It's been a long time since someone put that much faith in me, little brother."

"You could have it again. If you chose to."

"But not from you?"

"No, not from me."

"Arthur?"

"Yes?"

"Why did you really come down here tonight?"

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, please," Morgana said, grinning slightly. "You didn't come down here to reminisce about better times, Arthur."

"No," Arthur replied, frowning. "I came here to talk to you about your duties with Merlin and…"

"And?"

"I came to warn you," he answered, eyes suddenly remote and cold.

"Warn me about what?"

"You brought this mess upon us," Arthur whispered fiercely. "Good men are going to die because of you, Morgana. Do you understand that?"

"More than you know," Morgana rasped.

"If he dies I'll never stop looking for you, Morgana."

"What?"

"Merlin," Arthur snapped. "If anything happens to him and I even suspect you had something to do with it I will kill you myself, sister or not. Do you understand?"

"You care too much for him," Morgana scolded. "It is going to get you killed one day."

"No," the king growled. "You just don't care enough about anyone else to understand what it means to lose someone you love."

"Don't you dare preach to me on loss, Arthur Pendragon. I know what it means to have someone you love taken from you."

"Then you should understand the lengths I will go through to save him, Morgana. Or to avenge him."

"I understand," Morgana said quietly. "But, may I give a bit of sisterly advice?"

"I'm listening."

"Revenge is a dangerous path, Arthur."

"Killing you wouldn't be for revenge, Morgana. It would be for justice."

"The line between justice and vengeance is a thin one. Trust me…I've walked it and found myself wanting. You are a good man, Arthur. Don't let anger ruin that…no matter what the circumstances."

Arthur stared at her through the bars, expression thoughtful but weary. The man had grown up since the last time she'd had a real conversation with him. His arrogance had turned into confidence, a quiet lion like strength. Somehow, before she'd even realized it was happening, Arthur had grown from a childish ass of a prince to a wise, fearless, compassionate king.

"Tomorrow we will let you out of the cell," he said gruffly, breaking their spell. "You'll remain at Merlin's side and assist him in whatever he needs help with. I am going to try and remain with him as well, but I have knights that I need to take care of and refugees to get settled."

"This is it then?"

"Yes, it is."

"That's all you have to say, Arthur? Yes?"

"I might say something more eloquent like 'the fight for Camelot begins now', but I find that every time something like that is said it only dares fate to bring on something far worse next time round."

"You are a wise king," Morgana laughed. "A very wise king, indeed."

"I do try," he grinned then frowned and shook his head. "It's so easy to forget all you've done."

"Not for me," she whispered.

"No," Arthur murmured. "I suppose not. Good night, Morgana."

"Arthur?"

"Yes?"

"Ask him."

"Ask who what?"

"Ask Merlin about your father's secret. He'll know what you're talking about. You deserve to know."

"Morgana, I—"

"Just ask him," she said firmly. "What harm is there in asking?"

"No promises," Arthur replied. "But, I'll see what I can do."

"Good, and Arthur?"

"Yes?"

He had turned around to face her again and she smiled the first real smile in over a year. It stretched her lips only slightly and was a bit sad, but it was true and it was hers and she had never felt better.

"Remember what I said," she whispered.

"Which part?"

"You are a good man. Don't let anger ruin that."

"No matter what the circumstances?" he asked with a small grin.

"Exactly."


	12. What Doesn't Kill You Makes You Stronger

"Honestly, Arthur," Merlin huffed, attempting to heft the heavy sword over his shoulders to once again strike at the stupid smirking training dummy. "Doesn't this seem a bit pointless? I won't even have to use a sword."

"There are no guarantees of that," Arthur called back, wincing as his friend brought the sword down at such an awkward angle he wasn't even sure the dummy had been hit with the sharpened side of the blade. "Who knows what you will run into, Merlin? It's better to be safe than sorry."

Arthur had been extremely restless since his chat with Morgana the night previous. He tried to tell himself that he was merely uptight and worrying over the various battles that he would face the coming day. He had refugees to make safe, knights to arm and ready for battle, a wife to convince not to fight along side him, an entire court to make speeches to, and to top it all of, he had realized with some alarm that Merlin, having decided to use as little of his magic as possible in order to prepare for his coming ordeal, would need some sort of protection.

He had jumped from his bed, secretly glad that he had a task he could set his mind to, and rushed to Merlin's chambers where he roused his grumpy friend from dreams of kittens or moonbeams or some other Merlinesque nonsense. Merlin was not pleased to see him and the moment he looked outside to see the moon still high in the sky, shining brightly with what could only be lunar cheer, he cursed at his king quite magnificently.

No amount of prodding or pinching could get him to move and Arthur felt slightly guilty that all the ruckus they were making woke Awen from her own sleep. She did not seem to feel the least bit of inclination to help and only watched them, half annoyed and half amused. Finally, Arthur chose the lump that looked most like a head from beneath the covers and promptly sat on it. Merlin jerked underneath him and Arthur quickly stood, grinning as his friend peered blearily up at him in annoyance.

Once the young man was suitably clothed and had wiped the belligerent scowl from his face, Arthur had drug him to the armory where he proceeded to layer him with armor.

"Really," Merlin yawned. "You woke me up for this?"

"You can sleep when your dead, Merlin. Right now we've got work to do."

"I don't understand how playing dress up is work."

"You need armor," Arthur said, clasping the sheets of metal to his friend's thin exterior. "We don't know what you'll run into out there."

"Arthur," Merlin grumbled. "This is too heavy. I can't move at all. I've never had armor before. Why do I need it now?"

"I didn't know about before," Arthur reasoned. "You always slunk off, remember? If I had known you were right in the middle of things you can be damn sure you would have had armor."

"Don't say slunk," Merlin grumbled.

"Why not?"

"It sounds like I was up to no good. Slunk…it has a sneaky, creepy sort of sound to it."

"Then it fits you perfectly," Arthur deadpanned, dodging a halfhearted swipe from his friend.

"I'm serious, Arthur," Merlin groaned, squirming around in the armor. "This isn't going to work. I have a hard enough time not tripping over things on my own, can you imagine adding a hundred pounds worth of armor to the mix?"

Arthur suddenly got a violent image of Merlin tripping and impaling himself on his own sword. He grimaced and studied the warlock, trying not to laugh at how the armor seemed to have ate him. He unclasped the metal plates and set them aside, but left the chain mail. Merlin could whine and moan about that all he wanted, but he was going to have something more than flesh to protect him.

"Keep the chain mail," Arthur ordered. "That is non-negotiable, but I see your point on the rest of it. Now, grab a sword from one of the racks there. Make sure the length and balance fits you. We don't want you hurting yourself."

"Why do I need a sword," Merlin inquired, chain mail rattling annoyingly as he followed his king. "I'm not going to be fighting, Arthur."

"We don't know that," Arthur insisted. "Look, there is always a possibility that things won't go as planned. If that happens you may have to fight your way to a clear spot in order to work the spell. We can hope that doesn't happen, but you have to seal the refugees into their hideout and then get to the top of the castle. Who knows what could happen in between the two!"

"So your plan is to teach me how to use a sword in less than a few hours?"

"My plan is to get you to the point where you aren't swinging it around like an idiot, Merlin. My plan is to make you at least adept enough to defend yourself."

"I can defend myself," Merlin sniffed haughtily. "I've done it before, you know."

"Not very well," Arthur snorted. "At least not with a sword or a bow."

"I don't need a sword or a bow," Merlin argued. "I've got everything I need right in the palm of my hand."

"Don't get cocky," Arthur warned playfully.

"Wouldn't dream of it," Merlin replied. "That's your job, anyways."

In the end, Arthur had won, as he knew he would. He had patiently, at least by his standards, been instructing his magical friend how to properly hold and swing a sword for the past few hours. The sun was just beginning to climb over the castle walls and Arthur was stunned at how fast time seemed to be moving.

"Again," the king called absentmindedly. "A few more rotations of that, Merlin, and then we can rest."

He watched Merlin swing the blade with a sort of detached amusement, his thoughts on what Morgana had told him the night before. A great part of him wanted to shake off her words and stow them away as a valiant effort to sow discord between himself and Merlin. Another part of him, however, could not help but stray back in time to the fateful evening Arthur had first met Morgause.

Contrary to Merlin's belief, Arthur was not a dumb man and the more he thought about a secret his father would want to keep from him at all costs the more he returned to that horrible night. He had been enraged in a way that he had never felt before and certainly would have killed his father, or at least injured him in some way, if Merlin had not intervened. Even now, the mere thought about Uther having anything to do with his mother's death sent anger boiling in his blood.

He couldn't be sure, of course, that was what Morgana was referring to. Nor could he ignore the possibility that she was merely lying to him for her own nefarious reasons. He considered asking Merlin about it and had initially decided that he would not bring it up, but the longer he thought about her words the more agitated he became by them.

"Merlin," he finally said as the young man finished a rather comical lunge. "Morgana said something interesting to me last night."

"What—was—that?" the young man panted.

"She was talking about a secret you knew that I didn't," Arthur answered, watching his friend carefully. "About my father."

The sword Merlin was holding slipped from his fingertips at his words and the young man barely caught it in time to continue the movement he had been making. It wasn't much of a reaction, but it was enough to give Arthur pause.

"It's not like Uther and I were in the habit of sharing secrets," Merlin responded elusively, resting his hands on the pommel of the sword.

"That's not what I asked, Merlin."

"You didn't ask me anything, Arthur. How am I supposed to answer when you never even—"

"Do you know something I don't about my father," Arthur asked pointedly.

"I'm sure if I thought long and hard on it I could come up with something," Merlin hedged.

"You know something," Arthur said flatly. "I can see it, Merlin. What is it?"

"Arthur, I—"

"Should I hazard a guess?"

"I would really prefer you didn't."

"You promised to tell me everything, Merlin."

"Arthur," Merlin begged. "You aren't ready for this. Especially not now, sire. Please don't push this. We can talk about it after the battle, all right? Just please—"

"Later isn't good enough," Arthur snapped. "Now, Merlin. Spill it or I'll guess what it is."

Merlin studied him for a long time, his expression somewhere between fury at Morgana and concern for him. Arthur knew what he must have looked like, eyes hard and demanding, but when the warlock met his gaze he didn't look away. Merlin sighed and trudged over to sit beside him on the weapons chest. He didn't speak for a long time, but Arthur let him gather his courage and his words.

"You have to understand," Merlin whispered. "Magic can be a very dangerous thing if you walk into it blindly, Arthur. There are rules and consequences to every spell, a price for every enchantment. Usually it's an exchange of energy, but sometimes, if the spell is powerful enough, it calls for something more."

"A life for a life," Arthur said quietly.

"Yes," Merlin sighed. "Exactly like that. I do not think for one moment that Uther meant for it to happen the way that it did, but—"

"So it's true then," Arthur croaked. "Everything Morgause told me was true."

"No," Merlin said firmly. "It wasn't, Arthur. The plot may have been the same, but the details were wrong."

"What's the difference," Arthur asked harshly.

"I don't think Uther knew what he was asking for," Merlin said imploringly. "How could he? He wasn't even a sorcerer, let alone a warlock. He wouldn't have had access to that kind of knowledge. It was an accident, Arthur. Please believe that. Your father never meant to hurt anyone—"

"But he did," Arthur snarled, rage coursing through him. "He did, Merlin! And when he couldn't face up to his own mistakes he hurt even more people by blaming them! How could he do that?"

"Grief does strange things to people," Merlin said quietly.

"He lied to me," Arthur groaned. "Gods Merlin, he lied to me and all those people—"

"Arthur, don't."

"All those people burned, Merlin. I should have stopped him, I should have done something to help them."

"You didn't know," Merlin said soothingly. "It wasn't your fault."

"I watched them die without saying a word," Arthur spat. "It's as much my fault as it is his."

"No, Arthur, please just listen to—"

"You told me she was lying," Arthur growled turning on his friend at last. "You said that was what sorcerer's do, Merlin."

"You were going to kill him," Merlin said, defending himself. "You were out of your mind, Arthur. I couldn't let you kill him."

"I should have," the king snarled. "I should have gutted him right there."

"You don't mean that."

"Don't tell me what I do and do not mean, Merlin. You are in enough hot water as it is."

"Excuse me?"

"You promised to be honest with me and this whole time you've been keeping this from me. How could you?"

"I knew you would act like this," Merlin snapped. "You would blame yourself for things that were out of your control. What your father did was an accident, a tragic accident yes, but an accident all the same. The woman that is really responsible is dead, Arthur. Just let it go."

" You need to go," Arthur said quietly.

"What," Merlin barked, shock evident in his eyes.

"I need you to leave," Arthur repeated just as quietly. "I don't care where you go or what you do, but I need to be alone right now."

"Not a chance," Merlin said defiantly.

Merlin's insolence was the last straw for Arthur. Fury boiled in him so hot that if the warlock were to touch him the young man would be scalded. Red seeped into his vision and he lost time for a while, only dimly aware of wrenching the sword roughly from Merlin's fingertips and beating something to a bloody pulp.

"Why—can't—you—do—what—you're—told," he heard someone snarling as they swung a sword, pausing between each word to deliver a blow to the figure laid flat on the ground.

It wasn't until the sound of his own animalistic snarls reached his ears that Arthur came back to himself. His hands ached from how tightly he'd clenched the sword and the blade itself had been warped with the force of his blows. He looked at the practice dummy he'd more or less disintegrated and turned, panting, to see Merlin staring at him with wide horrified eyes. The young man was still sitting on the weapons chest, hands gripping the weathered wood so hard his fingers were white. He'd paled considerably and when he finally released the wood his hands were shaking.

"Are you alright," Arthur rasped, throat raw from screaming.

Merlin merely nodded slightly, but Arthur didn't have the strength or the inclination to feel horribly guilty at the moment. It was only when the young man looked up at him with tears in his eyes that Arthur felt the anger relinquish some of its hold on him. He made to sit beside the warlock but stopped when the young man flinched back slightly.

"So," Arthur said evenly. "We're back to that, are we?"

"No," Merlin whispered, patting a spot beside him. "Sorry, I just—"

"I know," Arthur said quietly. "You don't have to explain."

"I think you killed it," Merlin said, smiling slightly and wiping away whatever tears had threatened to spill.

"What?"

"The practice dummy, Arthur. I think you killed the practice dummy."

"Merlin, how can I kill it when it's a lump of wood?"

"It was a joke."

"Well, it wasn't very funny and it was completely unrealistic."

"You are just difficult to please, that's all. It was a fine joke, Arthur. I would have laughed at it myself had I been able to do so without looking like an arrogant ass."

"Well, you've already got the ass part down."

"Hmmm, agree to disagree I believe."

"We can't keep doing this, Merlin."

"What?"

"We can't keep lying to each other."

"I know," Merlin whispered. "I'm sorry, Arthur. I only wanted to protect you and—"

"I don't care what your reasons were," Arthur interrupted. "Noble intentions or not, you kept something very important from me. I can't keep wondering if you've told me everything or just what you think I ought to know. If we are going to do this then it can't work that way."

"All right," Merlin said softly. "I promise that was the last secret, Arthur. I'm sorry you had to find out like this. It should have been from Uther."

"Perhaps," Arthur replied gruffly. "But, he's dead now, isn't he? Killed by the sister that saw him for what he really was."

"Arthur, please don't—"

"We need to keep training," Arthur interrupted smoothly. "You'll need to get another sword from the armor. This one is bent."

"What?"

"Training," Arthur repeated. "You still have a long way to go, Merlin."

"But—but," Merlin spluttered. "We haven't finished talking about this yet."

"Maybe you haven't," Arthur replied, tone bordering on dangerous. "But I have."

"You can't just not deal with your feelings on this, Arthur."

"I think I've already dealt with them," Arthur responded, eyeing the destroyed practice dummy pointedly.

"But you need—"

"Merlin," Arthur shouted, anger surging through him again. "What I need is for you to shut up and swing the damn sword while I think."

Merlin blinked at him, attempting to hide the hurt he felt at being treated so unfairly. He frowned then turned and stomped away to the armory to retrieve another sword from its depths.

Arthur watched him go wearily before slumping down beside the weapons chest. He tried to come to terms with what Merlin had told him, but all he could think about was his father lying to him since his birth. He knew that he needed to be preparing himself for the upcoming battle instead of fighting a war within himself and he cursed at not heeding Merlin's advice on the matter.

Had his father loved him at all? How could he have lied to him everyday for years and looked him in the eye if he had cared for him in the slightest? Was that all he was to Uther? An heir?

"I was so stupid," Arthur groaned, tears blurring his vision. "God, I was such an idiot!"

Tears were dripping down his nose and cheeks, quivering slightly before falling to the dirt with a slight plop. He heard himself choke on a cry of pain and betrayal and before he knew it he was sobbing, head resting in his hands, fists gripping his hair like a vice with his grief.

He felt Merlin's firm grip on his shoulder and thought about wrenching away, but he didn't. He felt the man sit down beside him on the dirt, waiting patiently for Arthur to say something.

"Did he love me at all," Arthur rasped, eyeing Merlin from beneath his fists.

"You know that he did," Merlin whispered. "He cared for you a great deal, Arthur."

"Then how could he have lied to me," Arthur asked.

"Uther did what he thought was best for you," Merlin answered carefully. "Whether he was in the right or in the wrong he thought he was doing what needed to be done to ensure your happiness and safety."

"So you agree," Arthur asked, appalled. "You think it was fine to lie?"

"That's not what I said," Merlin replied gently. "I said that Uther believed he was doing the right thing."

"How can you sit there and defend him after everything he has done? You of all people should—"

"Do not think for a second that I am defending his actions where my kind are concerned," Merlin said quietly. "Uther was a murderer, Arthur. He was a man who allowed grief and guilt to twist him into something that hated without reason."

"What does that say about me," Arthur asked bitterly. "I followed him without question, Merlin. I'm just as guilty as he is for the deaths we caused."

"Then I guess I picked the wrong man then," Merlin muttered, standing up suddenly. "Maybe Kilgarrah meant a different Arthur Pendragon. I hope you don't mind, but I'll be going now. I need to find the king I'm meant to be serving."

"What," Arthur asked, staring up at his friend incredulously.

"You obviously aren't the king I'm looking for," Merlin continued. "The king I'm looking for knows who and what he is and doesn't need others to define him. My king recognizes that each person's actions are their own and to judge himself by someone else's decisions and mistakes is foolish. My king—"

"Enough," Arthur muttered. "You've made your point, Merlin."

"Have I? Because I can continue, if you'd like."

"Why didn't you let me kill him," Arthur whispered. "It had to have been tempting. It would have meant the end of hiding for you and your kind."

"I won't lie and say that I didn't think about it," Merlin replied quietly. "But the cost…it would have torn you apart, Arthur."

"I'm not sure it would have," Arthur said, laughing bitterly. "He just…all those people, Merlin."

"I know," Merlin whispered gently. "But, you would have hated yourself eventually, Arthur. And I think…I think that if you had killed Uther you would be a very different man from who you are today and not for the better."

"Explain what you mean, please."

"Uther's hatred stemmed from grief and guilt," Merlin told him. "Like I've said before, grief is funny that way. If you handle it the wrong way it can turn even the best people into monsters of their own making. That night, with your father, you became someone else, Arthur. To be honest, I was terrified of the man I saw. In that instant, I realized that if I didn't intervene you would have become that man permanently. Maybe not right away, but over time you would hate those around you even more vehemently than Uther did. I couldn't let you lose yourself."

"And so you lied," Arthur croaked.

"Yes," Merlin sighed. "I lied and I'm not proud of it, but if I had to do it all over again the outcome wouldn't change. I care far too much for you to allow you to throw away your goodness for a broken man like Uther."

"I could have saved lives, Merlin. Did you ever think about that? I could have made him see reason and—why are you laughing at me?"

"Because," Merlin chuckled. "Uther? See reason? Arthur, lets be serious."

"I am," Arthur growled.

"Arthur," Merlin chided. "You couldn't have made a dent in that man's mind if you hit it with boulder. He was who he was, don't you see? And you are who you are. We are put on this earth with the right to choose what we believe is right and wrong and just because your father chose incorrectly it doesn't mean that you have to. Be the bigger man, Arthur. Let this go."

"You make it sound so easy," Arthur groaned. "He killed my mother, Merlin!"

"Accidentally," Merlin insisted. "Intention is everything, Arthur! He didn't know what he was asking for!"

"Then find me the person who did," Arthur growled. "I'll do to them what I wish I could do to my father."

"Revenge is a dangerous path," Merlin said softly.

"You aren't the first person to have told me that lately," Arthur snapped.

"Then perhaps there is more than a little truth to it, sire."

"Do you really think I would have turned into my father, Merlin? That I could have done the things he did?"

"Arthur," Merlin said gently. "Look at Uther and look at Morgana. Each of them let their fear and grief fester and did awful things thinking that by killing what hurt them they would feel better."

"I'm nothing like Morgana," Arthur said. "I'm—"

"What," Merlin asked, smiling sadly. "Good? Was that what you were about to say? You are a good man? I agree, Arthur, but I feel the need to point out that Morgana was good once. She was kind, gentle, caring and look at where she is now. Anger can darken your soul like nothing else, sire. Don't let it destroy you."

"No matter what," Arthur whispered.

"What?"

"Just something Morgana told me yesterday," he sighed. "She's right, of course. Not that I would ever admit it to her."

"I'm sorry I kept it from you," Merlin said, studying his face from beneath the ridiculously too big chain mail.

"I understand why you did," Arthur replied. "I don't know what to do with the information you've given me, Merlin."

"Well, you can use it in two ways, Arthur. You can allow your anger to bring you down or you can remind yourself that you are a different man than your father and use it to strengthen your own beliefs. It's your choice, sire."

"Merlin," Arthur said quietly. "I want to be a good man. I want to make things right."

"Then choose to do so," Merlin replied. "Take this for what it was, Arthur, and move on."

"Will you help me?"

"Don't ask stupid questions that you already know the answer to."

"Right," Arthur laughed, the strangling feeling in his chest loosening a bit. "Sorry."

Arthur still felt like he'd been bludgeoned, but the anger was now something he could work through and control. Perhaps it was better that he'd been told before the battle for their lives. He could use the rage as a power source if things became grim and nothing could pummel an opponent like a good dose of fury.

"You know," Merlin said, sighing. "I don't think this chain mail is going to work, Arthur."

"You are wearing it," Arthur shot back. "I don't care if you look like an idiot, the chain mail stays on. And if you take it off when I'm not looking I'll toss you in the dungeons for a few days to remind you who is boss."

"You know," Merlin teased. "Six months ago that threat might have actually scared me."

The young man laughed as Arthur swung at him, ducking easily beneath his arm. Arthur pulled him back up by his collar and gave him a good natured punch on the arm. He winced and rubbed his shoulder. Trust Merlin to be overdramatic about everything.

"Stop being such a girl," Arthur drawled, easily falling into his patron insult.

"You punch hard," Merlin yelped. "You need to remember your own strength."

"What I need to do is toughen you up a bit."

"Arthur?"

"Yeah?"

"Are we all right?"

"Yes."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Are you really, really sure?"

"Merlin."

"Are you really, really, really sure?"

"Merlin, don't make me punch you."

"Are you really, really, really, really su—ow!"

"I gave you fair warning," Arthur sighed, smiling a bit at his friend's obvious attempts to cheer him up. Surprisingly, it was working.

That wasn't to say, of course, that he had come to terms with what he'd been told. No, he guessed that there would be a few sleepless nights for him to ponder over how he felt and why. For the moment though he was able to compartmentalize his anger and shove it away from him. That would have to do for the moment.

"Arthur," Merlin pouted. "I really am offended that you—"

Suddenly, the warning bells began to chime, sounding loud and ominous in the dawn lit field. Arthur's head jerked up at the sound and he felt Merlin tense beside him.

"The refugees must be here," Merlin said, looking at Arthur for affirmation.

"I told them not to ring the bells unless—"

"Unless?"

"They're here," Arthur whispered.

"What? Now? But, they aren't supposed to be here until later tonight."

"Well, then we'll just kindly let them know they are early and to come back later, shall we?"

"Don't be rude."

"Then don't be an idiot."

"Arthur," Merlin whispered as the bells continued their frantic ringing. "If the demons are here then where are the refugees?"


	13. A Series of Unfortunate Events

**Author's Note: **_I am going to keep this short and sweet. Here is a new character for you all to enjoy. He is meant to be Sir Bedovir, but his name is written in the Welsh way of spelling it. Anyways, please review because I need the confidence booster and I haven't really received a whole lot of feedback. That goes for this chapter and last chapter._

Bedwyr was no coward. He knew this to be true, despite the lack of evidence supporting his claim of bravery. He would, given the chance, be a man capable of heroic deeds and magnificent chivalry. He had often imagined what life would have been like had he become a knight and fondly remembered fighting off a dragon that vaguely resembled his father during his childhood.

Bedwyr also knew that he would never be the knight he so wished to be. He was a simple farmer's son and a one handed one at that. He'd lost his other hand at the age of twelve when one of the older boys Bedwyr played with dared him to a contest of bravery. The game consisted of a chopping block, an axe, and a few witless boys who dropped the axe down to see who flinched first. When it was Bedwyr's turn he was determined not to flinch, which was unfortunate because he hadn't counted on his friend's fingers slipping from the handle before he could stop it short of Bedwyr's hand.

Bedwyr couldn't even remember the blade sinking into his flesh, tearing through bone and muscle until, apparently, his hand had been left to hang uselessly from his wrist, connected to the rest of his body by a thin layer of skin. He was told all of that later, just as he was told of the way he calmly walked the distance between the forest and his farm before passing out in his panicked mother's arms.

He had decided, from the very beginning, that he wasn't going to let his disfigurement stop him from achieving his dreams. He had learned to fight with one hand and was one of the best swordsmen in his village and the many surrounding towns. Things weren't always easy, but he managed and, at nineteen, he could honestly say that he'd accomplished more than most middle-aged men.

After his parents passed from a blight that had swept through the village, Bedwyr was left alone to take care of himself and his then two-year-old sister. He'd worked hard to learn how to till the earth and the best time to harvest the crops. He poured sweat, blood, and tears into the dirt and he was strangely protective of the land he sowed. So when he heard that some sort of demonic force was barreling towards Camelot and destroying everything in between his first inclination was to stand and fight.

There had been others who agreed with him, but the majority had decided to flee towards Camelot, hoping to be offered refuge by the new king. Bedwyr knew who Arthur was, but other than his name the boy couldn't say one thing about him. He suspected that the young king was precisely like every other king and he scoffed at his people's willingness to flock to him.

Of course, in the end, he'd been forced to flock to. His sister, Milda, who was now nine, had insisted that he come with her. At first, he refused, but Milda cried and yelled so loudly that he eventually gave in.

Now, tired and dirty, he looked around him at the giant group of other refugees. Some he thought he knew, but couldn't tell because they had all started to look the same after the first two days. Same weary expressions, same blistered feet, same dirty garments. Most refugees had brought whatever they could with them, loading food and valuables into giant wagons. Horses or an ox pulled some wagons and some were pulled by men. At that moment it seemed, to Bedwyr, that there was very little difference between men and the beasts of the earth.

"Bedwyr," Milda whined from behind him. "Why couldn't we bring our things? Everyone else has."

"It will tie us down," Bedwyr replied. "This way, if anything comes up the road behind us, we can move fast."

"Parthinax doesn't like to go fast," Milda cooed, patting the fore mentioned horse she was currently riding. "Do you, Parthinax?"

"He will," Bedwyr sighed. "He'll have to if we run into trouble."

"Do you really think we will?"

"I don't know, Milda."

"I thought you wanted to fight, Bedders."

"Don't call me that," Bedwyr sighed.

"Why not?"

"Because it's—how would you like it if I called you Millie?"

"I wouldn't mind. I like Millie."

"Of course you do."

"You never answered me before," she needled, tugging at his hair, which was growing too long in the back. "I thought you wanted to fight."

"I do," he said, patiently guiding his horse around a sinkhole in the road. "But, I have you to think about, remember?"

"I could fight," she replied. "You taught me how to hold a sword."

"And you nearly fell over with the weight of it," Bedwyr laughed. "I don't think fighting will be the best option for you, Milda."

He could almost feel her pout through the back of his shirt and he grinned widely. He reached his good hand behind him, clenching his knees tightly around the horse and ruffled his sister's hair.

"Don't worry, goose. We'll make it to Camelot in one piece."

"I was talking to that old woman and she said—"

"What old woman?"

"The woman selling flowers on the road that joined up two days ago. She said that—"

"I told you not to talk to anyone you don't know," Bedwyr scolded.

"I never said a word to her. She was talking and she said—"

"But you just told me that you were talking to her."

"Well, what I meant was that I was listening to her talking to someone else."

"Uh huh, sure."

"Let me tell you this, Bedwyr! She said that we were going to meet the king!"

"I doubt we'll meet him," Bedwyr said, hoping his sister didn't get her hopes up. "We might see him though."

"Everyone says he's very handsome," Milda sighed. "Do you think he'll be handsome, Bedwyr?"

"I don't know," he laughed. "I don't spend a great deal of time thinking about whether the king is easy on the eyes."

"I know," Milda crowed. "You think about Charis! How much do you think you would have to pay her to be your wife? Does she even know you fancy her?"

"I do not fancy Charis," Bedwyr grumbled, knowing his sister would never believe him.

"I think you do," Milda insisted. "I don't know why she doesn't like you, Bedwyr. All the girls think you are very handsome. Maybe even more handsome than the king."

"They've never seen the king," Bedwyr pointed out.

"Well, then you are more handsome then what they think the king looks like."

"Milda," he breathed, moving Parthinax from the path of a large supply wagon. "I only have one hand. Women don't exactly swarm in my direction."

"No one cares about silly things like a missing hand," the girl sighed as if her brother were the dumbest man on earth. "Besides, you can do much better than little old Charis. You could marry a princess, Bedwyr."

"Oh?"

"Yes, she would be lovely. She would have beautiful golden hair and she would sing like an angel. We could live in the palace, Bedwyr, and wear crowns! Oh, doesn't that sound lovely?"

"I'll get right on that," Bedwyr laughed.

Parthinax whinnied suddenly, bucking slightly beneath them. The horse's nostrils flared and he stepped back nervously as if sensing hidden danger. Bedwyr glanced around him and noticed the other horses acting in a similar fashion and he felt unease slither into his gut.

"Something isn't right," he whispered to Milda. "I don't think we should go any farther."

"But, what about Camelot?"

"We'll find another way," Bedwyr insisted, attempting to keep Parthinax from bucking them off his back. "We need to get out of here, right now."

The other refugees had stopped, bewilderment turning to fear as their animals writhed and fought to free themselves. Bedwyr had maneuvered his horse to the outskirts of the group when he heard the first scream. It was a horrible, agonized screech that quickly turned into a harsh gurgle.

"Bedwyr," Milda whispered, clutching his tunic tightly in her fists. "What was that?"

Bedwyr didn't reply, but watched the road ahead of them carefully. Suddenly, the travelers were running, screams and shouts echoing off the wagon walls. Bedwyr could see something moving within the throng of people, clawing and tearing as they ran past. He wheeled his horse around and was about to send Parthinax galloping to safety, but he was forced to change his plans when something cold gripped his tunic and ripped him from the horse.

He tumbled to the ground, fighting even as he went, and he felt whatever it was holding him let go. Pulling his sword awkwardly from his scabbard he turned to face the thing that had unhorsed him. He could vaguely hear Milda screaming his name from atop of Parthinax, but he shut her out, concentrating on the battle at hand.

The corpse smiled at him with broken teeth, something black oozing over rotting lips. He to was missing an arm and Bedwyr couldn't help but smile darkly at the sick sense of humor fate must have.

"Pretty," the demon commented, pointing its remaining hand at his sister. "I bet she'll taste divine."

"Too bad you won't find out," Bedwyr snapped, swinging his blade around in a deadly arc, aiming for the corpse's head. Only when the blade finished its circle the demon wasn't there.

Bedwyr barely had time to raise his sword up and deflect a blow from the creature as it lunged at him from the side. It snarled and the young man felt beads of whatever foul substance the creature omitted peppering his face. It swung at him again and he deftly avoided it, bringing his own blade down. He heard the satisfying crunch of bone, but when he looked at the wound he inflicted the demon seemed to laugh at him. His stroke had embedded the blade deep into his shoulder and almost into the collarbone, but the creature did not seem to be harmed in the slightest.

"You'll have to try harder," it spat at him, gripping his blade and jerking Bedwyr forward.

Bedwyr let go of the weapon and looked for anything he could use to defend himself. In the heat of the battle he hadn't had time to recognize the carnage that was going on around him. Some men and women fought for their lives, while others ran in whatever direction they could. Blood soaked the earth and he could make out the snarls of demons and the agonized cries of the humans they had caught.

He realized quite quickly that he had no hopes of fighting them. He was ashamed to admit it, but he was terrified. He watched in horror as the last of the fighters fled and he was left alone with the screams of the dying. The demon grinned at him and Bedwyr ran for the first time in his life. He leapt atop Parthinax and drove his heels hard into the horse's side. Milda wrapped her skinny arms around him in a tight embrace.

"Milda," he shouted as they galloped past the torn bodies of the dead. "Don't look, goose! Close your eyes! Whatever you do, don't look!"

"I'm scared," she cried and Bedwyr could feel her tears soaking into the back of his tunic.

"Faster Parthinax," Bedwyr whispered. "Please, you old fool, run faster!"

The horse, perhaps taking his master's pleas to heart, sped up and all but flew past the grasping hands of the demons and into the forest beyond. Bedwyr wasn't sure how long they rode, but he didn't dare stop until he reached the gates of Camelot. His sister had been unusually quiet and the young farmer reached his hand back to stroke her hair.

"Those poor people," she said suddenly, tears beginning to fall once more. "Did they kill them all?"

"I don't know," Bedwyr answered. "I don't think so, but I couldn't say for sure."

"Why would they do something like that, Bedders? Why would anyone do something so horrible?"

"I—I don't know, goose. I wish I had a better answer than that, but I don't."

"Bedwyr," Milda whispered. "Are we going to die?"

"Not if I have something to say about it," her brother replied.

"What if I lose you?"

"You won't."

"But, what if I do?"

"Milda," he chided gently. "Please, little goose. Stop crying. You don't want the King of Camelot to see you all weepy faced, do you?"

"He's not even here," she pointed out, but he could hear her sobs turn to sniffles.

"We're going to be just fine, goose."

"Are we still going to Camelot?"

"We are going to try," Bedwyr answered, finally allowing Parthinax to slow from a gallop into a brisk canter.

"What if they won't help us?"

"They will, goose. They have to."

"No, they don't," Milda insisted. "What if King Arthur is a mean man, Bedwyr?"

"I thought you said he was handsome," Bedwyr joked.

"You can be mean and handsome at the same time," Milda pouted.

"They won't turn us away," the young man insisted. "Trust me, little goose. Can you do that?"

She nodded against the back of his shirt and her arms squeezed him tighter than before. It was clear to Bedwyr that the child was receding into her land of fantasy where she knew she would never see the horrors that she'd witnessed that day. There, and only there, she could be whatever she wanted to be and have all of the magnificent adventures she wanted to have.

If he was honest with himself, Bedwyr didn't mind his sister's silence in the slightest. It gave him time to think about what sort of action he would take upon arriving safely in Camelot. He was sure that the king would already know of the threat. If he remembered correctly the refugees had elected a kind woman from the village of Ealdor to act as their emissary. Supposedly, her son was close to the king and they had figured that said son would grant them a meeting with his sovereign.

So, it was safe to bet that the young king would already have a plan of action in place. There would be a battle, Bedwyr was sure of that. Once Milda was safe, Bedwyr fully intended to be a part of that battle, whether they wanted him or not. He wanted nothing more than to wipe the smile off that bastard demon's face.

They rode through the night, stopping only to relieve themselves and once to eat a little of the bread Bedwyr had packed for their journey. They came across few people during their travels in the forest, but those they did meet Bedwyr was quick to warn. It seemed like they wanted to argue with him, but they must have seen something in his eyes because they always stopped themselves, turning away to bustle back into the trees in the direction that Bedwyr hoped would lead them to safety.

Dawn was beginning to creep over the tops of the trees when they finally reached the outskirts of Camelot. Bedwyr could see the top of the castle through the foliage and he latched onto to it hopefully. A shadow passed over his head, but Bedwyr paid little attention to it until Milda grabbed his arm, pointing at the sky and shouting excitedly.

"Bedwyr," she cried. "Did you see it? A dragon, Bedwyr! I saw a dragon."

"Milda," he scoffed. "It was just your imaginat—"

The words caught in his throat as another giant shadow flew across the sky, great wings beating powerfully against the air to keep it afloat. The creature was a pretty red, made even more scarlet by the dawn's pink glow.

"Oh," Milda cried. "There is another one! He's much bigger than the first one I saw! Bedwyr, did you see him?"

"I saw him," he croaked, pulling Parthinax up short. "Did you see where they landed?"

"No," Milda replied. " I don't think they did. Do you think that King Arthur is friends with dragons?"

"He can't be," Bedwyr answered. "Magic is forbidden, remember?"

"Well, then whose dragons are they?"

"I don't think they belong to anyone," Bedwyr replied, eyeing the sky uneasily.

"Are they dangerous," Milda asked as they watched the giant creatures fly back around the castle in a lazy loop.

"I don't know, Milda. Probably."

"They don't look dangerous, Bedwyr. Look how pretty that white one is."

"Yes," Bedwyr grunted, pushing Parthinax into a trot. "Very pretty."

"I wonder if she'd let me ride her," Milda pondered.

"Well, you aren't getting close enough to find out, goose. You can be sure of that."

They rode the last few miles up to the gates, Milda chatting about how beautiful the dragons were while Bedwyr kept a weary eye on them. The guards seemed to be expecting them and though they seemed nervous about the dragons they were not alarmed, but they looked bewildered when Bedwyr informed him that they were alone.

"Where are the others," the guard inquired. "King Arthur informed us that there would be over a thousand."

"We were attacked," Bedwyr explained. "I don't know how many of us survived, but we all got separated. My sister and I were able to slip away at the last moment."

"Good gods," the guard muttered. "King Arthur will want to hear about this. If you hurry up to the castle you can catch him before he leaves to take care of official business. If you have a hard time getting to him ask for Merlin. He'll be able to get you where you need to go."

"Thank you," Bedwyr said, pushing Parthinax through the gates. "You see, goose? I told you they would let us in."

"Did you hear what he said," Milda giggled. "We're going to see the king."

"Milda," Bedwyr said as they rode up the deserted streets. "You can't giggle like that in front of the king, do you understand? This is important."

"I know," Milda sighed. "I promise I won't giggle."

"Don't even grin, Milda. You'll start smiling and the next thing you know you are tittering like a bar maid."

He felt her pinch him and he laughed. Parthinax whinnied softly as they passed by the castle stables, calling cheerily to his brothers and sisters in the hay filled stalls. They were almost to the foot of the castle when the warning bells began to ring.

"What is that," Milda cried, covering her ears with her hands.

"I don't know," Bedwyr shouted back. "But it isn't good!"


	14. Lions and Tigers and Bears, Oh My!

**Author's Note**: _Here is the next chapter folks! I hope you enjoy it because I had fun writing it! I know I am going to sound like a broken record, but your reviews would really mean the world to me and this story so….HELP? Oh, and to Merlini Barba…thanks for all the great reviews. In answer to your questions, I took artistic license with the story of Sir Bedovir or Bedwyr (Welsh spelling). In the legends he doesn't lose his hand until much later in life, but since the creators of Merlin play with the legends I decided I would to. In fact, if you read the Welsh version of the King Arthur legends both Bedwyr and our beloved king are looked at as bullies. It would take too long to explain why, but you if you are interested you can message me and I can explain it. Anyways, please review, friends and readers!_

Leon understood fear. As a veteran knight of Camelot he had faced monsters and trolls with apparent ease and a calm sense of duty. He was methodical, not quite predictable, but close enough that one could hardly tell the difference. He understood that logic and order were a soldier's tools and once on the battlefield those tools could mean the difference between life and death.

Fear, Leon knew, was essential to a soldier's survival. A good dose of terror kept ones mind rooted in the moment and, if handled correctly, allowed for a deeper type of thinking that only adrenaline could create. He welcomed fear like an old friend and knew that his brothers in battle would also be opening the door to their unlikely companion called terror.

It was fear he felt as he strode down the corridor to the training field where his king and friend had last been seen. It was fear he felt as he told of the forces waiting just outside of Camelot's gates to an ashen king and an equally grey-faced warlock. It was fear he felt as he followed Arthur to the throne room attempting to answer the questions as they came flying out at him. Fear. Leon felt it, sure enough, but this time it felt like a seething, hissing snake inside his belly rather than an unrelenting brick of strength.

"They have increased in numbers," he heard himself saying to his king. "Not by much, mind you, but enough to cause problems."

"How many," Arthur asked, voice hard.

"Another hundred, sire. They total a little under two hundred now. But…"

"Go on, Leon."

"It's about the extra hundred, my lord. They aren't demons."

"What?"

"They're…well, they're refugees. We believe they are being used as shields."

Leon watched as Arthur's expressionless mask slipped and he briefly caught a glimpse of the fury in the depths of his eyes. Merlin remained strangely silent, but the knight watched him pale slightly at the news.

"And the rest of them," Arthur asked, tone clipped with anger.

"We don't know," Leon replied. "They never arrived at the gates, sire."

"I can help answer that," a young voice called out, strong and clear.

The three men turned to find a young man standing just outside the throne room doors. The boy couldn't have been more than nineteen, but when Leon met his eyes the young man looked back at him with a grace and wisdom far past his age. He was a handsome fellow; chestnut curls framed a strong face and his eyes were a pleasant cool grey. He looked strong beneath his tunic and Leon guessed he was a field worker of some sort. There was a sword on his right hip and Leon's eyes couldn't help but stray up to the stump of flesh where his right hand should have been. The young man caught him looking and smiled ruefully.

"It's not as bad as it looks," he said with the sort of patience that comes from years of stares and pitied whispers.

His left hand was hidden behind the door and was being tugged on relentlessly by something out of sight. The young man rolled his eyes lovingly and tugged a little girl of no more than nine or ten in front of him. She grinned sheepishly at them from the protection of the man's tall figure.

"State your name," Arthur demanded. Merlin frowned at his king in distaste over Arthur's briskness and the king rolled his eyes. "Please."

"My name is Bedwyr," the young man replied, bowing his head respectfully. "This is my sister, Milda. We come from a small village on the borders of your lands. We were among the refugees, sire."

"Time is short," Arthur said grimly. "We'll have to walk and talk, I'm afraid. I need to see what the situation is on the lower gates. Do you mind?"

"Not at all," Bedwyr said instantly. "I'm happy to do whatever is needed."

"Bedders," Milda whispered loudly. "Bedders, tell him about the dragons."

"They're here," Arthur asked mildly. "Hmmm, about damn time. Honestly, Merlin, what is the point of having dragon allies if they take forever to show their scaly hides?"

"I dare you to say that to their faces," Merlin replied evenly.

Leon smiled as Arthur shot him a dirty look. Even when times were at their darkest the men's friendship outshone everything around it. Their banter was a great source of amusement and morale among the knights and, in the heat of battle, morale was almost as important as fear.

"You knew," Bedwyr asked, shock clearly evident on his face. "But…I thought…magic. It's forbidden."

"It was forbidden," Arthur replied with a small smile. "Now it's not. Things change, lad. Hopefully for the better."

Bedwyr nodded in a manner that suggested he was neither agreeing nor disagreeing with the king. Arthur grinned for a moment before remembering where he was and his lips turned down and pressed into a thin line.

"Walk and talk," he repeated, walking quickly towards the castle doors. "Merlin, go and tell Guinevere that I'm…"

Arthur trailed off as Merlin raised his eyebrows pointedly and smirked at him with a rather defiant quirk to his lips.

"Right," Arthur muttered. "Not my servant. I'm going to have to get used to that."

"Don't worry," Merlin laughed. "I'm sure you'll find someone new to boss around. Though I doubt he will be anywhere near as handsome or charming as myself."

"And when I hire the most charming, handsome man in the kingdom?"

"I'll ask what that says about you, sire."

"Shut up, Merlin."

Leon smiled again as he walked a few paces behind the two men. The young lad, Bedwyr, and his towheaded sister followed close to him and the boy watched the warlock and the king with a sort of bemused amazement.

"Are they always like this," Bedwyr whispered to Leon.

"Most of the time," Leon replied with a small laugh. "Not what you expected?"

"Not exactly," the lad said dryly. "They don't seem nervous at all."

"Are you," Leon asked quietly.

The young man appraised him with cool, grey eyes. Leon was once more struck at the amount of wisdom that he saw there. Bedwyr was a man that would be good to have at ones back.

"Yes," Bedwyr answered confidently. "But, that's good, I think."

Leon nodded his approval and the boy grinned with pride. The knight looked down slyly at the young man's amputated hand and sighed. Bedwyr would make a good knight if it weren't for his missing appendage.

"It was an accident," Bedwyr said softly, sensing the knight's glance. "An axe."

"Sounds painful," Leon grimaced.

"At first," the young man grunted. "After awhile though it just became a part of me…who I was, I suppose."

"Does it hinder you greatly," Leon asked.

"Not as much as you would think," Bedwyr replied. "I can fight well enough and farming has never been much of an issue. You learn to make due with whatever you have."

Bedwyr's left hand was entwined tightly with tiny fingers and Leon glanced down to see Milda beaming up at him. The young child would be a beauty one day, of this he was sure. Her red hair framed her cheeks in soft ringlets and a single spray of freckles ran from the middle of her rosy cheeks and across the bridge of her pixy-like nose. Her smile was gap-toothed at the moment, but perhaps, one day soon, she would have the smile of an angel.

"Are you a knight," she asked in interest.

"I am," Leon said.

"My brother wants to be a knight," she whispered to him as if they were two conspirators in a grand heist.

"Hush," Bedwyr told the girl gently. "Remember what I said, little goose."

"This is serious," Milda said in monotone, sending Leon a dainty eye roll.

Leon laughed and Milda's smile grew. He ruffled her hair slightly and she giggled. He had always wanted children, but he'd been so busy protecting the realm that he'd never found the time to settle down. Perhaps, when his duty to the king was over, he could be the father he'd always wanted to be.

The small group reached the castle gates and Arthur led them single file up through the guards tower and onto the castle walkway. His jaw clenched visibly as he surveyed the row of refugees, standing arm to arm with no weapons and no shields. Behind them came the rasping howls and catcalls of the demon army, their deceased hosts writhing grotesquely in a writhing mass.

"Tell me," Arthur growled at Bedwyr. "What happened?"

"We were attacked, sire. They knew the road we were taking and they cut us off. I don't know how many died, but my sister and I barely escaped with our lives. There was nothing we could do."

Arthur was silent for a long time and Leon knew that his king was attempting to work through his fury. He began to pace back and forth then suddenly slammed his fist down on the stone.

"What are they waiting for," he asked loudly. "Why not attack us?"

"Scare tactics," Leon replied instantly. "They are making us sweat, sire."

"Damn them," Arthur spat. "We aren't ready for this. We haven't even evacuated the lower town yet. Merlin, can you think of—Merlin, what are you doing?"

Leon turned to see the warlock studying the demon horde intensely. He was muttering something beneath his breath and the knight could barely make out a glint of gold beneath his lowered lashes. The man was using magic, but for what?

Suddenly, the warlock gasped slightly and rose shaky fingertips to rest against his temples. His jaw clenched with effort and he groaned slightly as if fighting with some internal roadblock.

"Merlin," Arthur called again, concerned.

The young man put up a hand to silence his king then pointed his shaky fingers out at the demon horde. Leon looked and found himself gasping along with the rest of them. Separating them from the Shadow Spirits was a large wall of shimmering energy, like glass, magic coursing through it like tiny sparks of lightning.

"Are you a magic man," Milda asked in wonder, the first to break the silence.

"Something like that," Merlin replied quietly, strain evident in his voice.

"Merlin," Arthur said, grasping his friend's shoulder. "Is that what I think it is?"

"Depends," the warlock grunted.

"On?"

"Whether or not you can actually think, Arthur."

"Funny," Arthur snapped. "Answer me, please."

"It's a shield," Merlin replied, trying to hide the fact that he was gripping the edge of the wall a bit too tightly.

"How much is this costing you," Arthur whispered.

"Oh, this," Merlin snorted, obviously lying. "I could do this in my sleep."

"Merlin," Arthur repeated quietly.

"It's—it's difficult," Merlin grimaced, sagging slightly at the admission. "I've never put up a shield this big before, but I can hold it for a little while."

"You shouldn't be doing this," Arthur said softly. "You need to conserve your strength, old friend."

"Maybe," Merlin muttered, voice shaking. "But, we need time, Arthur. The people need time. I can give them that. At least for a little while."

"The dragons," Arthur argued. "Surely they can—"

"Sorry," Merlin interrupted, shaking his head. "Can they raise a little hell down in the ranks? You bet. Can they stop them from attacking completely? Not a chance."

"Great," Arthur spat. "This is just perfect! How long do you think you can hold this, Merlin? I don't want you killing yourself with this, do you understand?"

"Sure," Merlin said, grinning through grit teeth. "A few hours at most. Any time after that and I don't think I'll be strong enough to climb a flight of stairs let alone take on a dragon's power source. Morgana will have her hands full that is for—"

"Morgana," Arthur crowed. "She can do this, can't she?"

"I don't know," Merlin groaned. "Maybe, but I doubt it."

"Merlin," Arthur pointed out with a sigh. "If you tire yourself out holding this spell how are you going to protect yourself? Morgana may be a witch, but she's only one woman. We're counting on you."

"I can help," Bedwyr volunteered, speaking for the first time since Merlin's magic show. He was staring at the warlock with something akin to wonder and behind the amazement was a steely courage and stone hard determination.

"What," Arthur asked, turning to face the young man.

"I can help," Bedwyr repeated. "I can protect him. I'd like to do whatever I can."

"Not a chance," Arthur said immediately and both Leon and Merlin stared at him, shocked.

"Why not," Bedwyr asked quietly, his left hand unconsciously hiding the stump of his right arm.

"Your bravery is admirable," Arthur told the young man. "But, I need someone I can count on to protect him. He's important for more reason than one and I just don't think that a—"

"Don't think for a second that I am any less capable than any other man," Bedwyr said coolly. "I may only have one hand, but I am not a coward and I am not weak. I can fight."

"I never doubted you could," Arthur replied gently. "And I certainly never questioned your bravery. What I was going to say was that a man I do not know watching over a man I care for a great deal concerns me."

"Arthur," Merlin sighed. "Who else could it be? Everyone else is needed elsewhere. I trust him."

"You'd trust a murderous thief if he asked you nicely," Arthur grumbled.

"Don't be so dramatic," Merlin mumbled, eyes glassy and feverish. "I wouldn't trust a murderous thief, sire. One or the other perhaps, but certainly not both."

"I'm saying no," Arthur said, ignoring his friend. "I can't take the risk, Merlin. I'm sorry."

"And if I choose to protect him anyways," Bedwyr asked defiantly.

"I would remember who you are speaking to," Arthur growled, turning to glare at the bold young farmer.

"Technically," Bedwyr replied. "You aren't my king. My lands lie on the other side of your borders…sire."

Arthur studied the boy for a long time with an unreadable expression in his blue eyes. Leon found himself torn; part of him desperately wanted to root for the brave lad, but part of him wanted to show support for his king. Being a knight was never easy, but the veteran found explosive moments like these especially difficult.

"End the suspense already," Merlin muttered. "We both know you like him."

Arthur rolled his eyes and the tension was instantly gone. The king punched his friend lightly in the shoulder then frowned as the slight blow sent the warlock swaying on his feet. The king reached a hand out to steady the young man, but Merlin shook his head and pulled away.

"I'm fine," he said tightly. "Don't fuss."

"You've got guts," Arthur said to Bedwyr, though his eyes remained on Merlin. "I'll give you that much. How did you know I wouldn't execute you for insubordination?"

"You don't seem like the type," Bedwyr supplied. "I figured I'd take my chances. Now, are you going to let me help or do I have to be a thorn in your side?"

"Bedders," Milda cried. "I don't want you to go. What if I lose you?"

"I've told you before, little goose. You won't."

"Mama always said not to make promises you can't keep."

"How do you know she said that, little goose? You were two the last time you saw her."

"Well," the child replied thoughtfully. "I don't know for sure if our mama said it, but it sounds like something a mama would say. And it's true, isn't it?"

"True enough," Bedwyr agreed. "But, I have to do something, goose."

"I know," she whispered glumly.

"So," Bedwyr asked, looking back at Arthur. "How about it, King Arthur?"

"It's up to Merlin," Arthur said shrugging. "I trust his judgment more than my own at times."

"What," Merlin asked, looking slightly puzzled as if he'd only recently woken from a deep sleep. "Did you say my name, Arthur?"

"See," Arthur snapped. "This is what worries me, Merlin. Your brain is not functioning properly."

"My brain is fine," Merlin frowned. "I was just concentrating on the spell, Arthur. What did you ask?"

"Do you want the boy to help protect you," Arthur repeated. "The choice is yours."

Merlin was quiet for a time, eyes slightly unfocused and wandering. He seemed to be attempting two different thought processes at once and the very idea of such a thing made Leon slightly dizzy. The knight could tell that the warlock's slightly dreamy and very much strained expression was having a dire effect on his king. Arthur looked about ready to snap from a mixture of worry and annoyance by the time Merlin finally answered.

"I think it's a good idea," he said slowly, deliberately taking time with each word so the consonants didn't slur. "We'll need all the help we can get."

"There is your answer," Arthur told Bedwyr. "Protect him with your life. He's an idiot but he's my idiot and I'd like to have him back in one piece."

"I think I can work with those parameters," Bedwyr said with a small grin.

"Right," Arthur said gruffly, turning his eyes back to the shield and the slightly blurry figures beyond. "Here's our plan—"

Leon watched Merlin closely as Arthur explained what would be occurring in only a few hours time. Milda had crept silently over to him and was crouched down beside where he had sagged tiredly against the wall. She was whispering to him and he was smiling slightly, but only seemed half there. The rest of him, Leon assumed, was out in the shield and the knight was sure it was costing him more than he let on.

The young man's pallor was flushed and feverish, sweat making his face shiny and his hair curl in damp ringlets against his forehead. His hands shook and his jaw clenched in concentration, eyes focused on something Leon couldn't see.

"I like your neckerchief," Milda whispered, fingering the coarse material between her little fingers. "I've always wanted one, but Bedwyr isn't very good at sewing. We have Charis make all my dresses. Bedwyr fancies her, but he won't tell her that he does. He gets all red and talks silly. Do you have a girl you fancy?"

"Her name is Awen," Merlin panted, smiling softly.

"Is she pretty," the little girl wondered. "I bet she is. I would think a magic man would have the prettiest girl in the whole world. Maybe even prettier than the king's. Is she magic like you, magic man?"

"She is," the warlock said. "But, she's not like us."

"Is she a fairy," the girl asked excitedly. "I've always wanted to meet a fairy, did you know? Bedwyr says fairies don't exist, but I think they do. I saw a fairy ring once. It was made out of ugly old toadstools, but Charis told me that they danced in the circles. Have you seen a fairy?"

"Not that I know of," Merlin said, grimacing slightly.

"That's too bad," Milda whispered glumly. "Charis says that a fairies magic can make all sorts of bad things go away. If I had a fairy and she granted me wishes like a fairy is supposed to I would wish for all those bad monsters to disappear. And…and for all the people they hurt to be well again. Do you think they would grant my wishes, magic man?"

"I certainly would," Merlin said gently. "And do you know what?"

"What," the little girl asked.

"I wish the same thing," he said softly, closing his eyes. "I wish it with all my heart."


	15. Fortune Favors the Brave

**Author's Note: **_Thank you for all the lovely reviews! I am so happy you liked Milda because she's based on my ten year old sister. She's a crack up. Anyways, here is another chapter for you to enjoy and from here on out it will be rather exciting. PLEASE REVIEW BECAUSE I NEED THEM! Merlini Barba, I am not fluent in Welsh but I know enough to get by. I study Arthurian legends and history quite religiously and have run into my fair share of the language so I decided to learn a little bit. _

When Arthur had been a boy, no older than eleven or twelve, Uther had taken him to the dreary dungeons located on the cold and unforgiving coasts just west of their lands. Uther had explained to the young prince that only men of the worst sort were kept within its walls. He had walked the frigid, dripping halls with his son and together they watched the horrors that occurred there. Arthur still remembered the horrid screams and wails of the inmates and, from time to time, their sunken faces and fevered eyes became the subject of his nightmares.

The reason behind their excursion, Uther had explained, was to show Arthur that every man, no matter how invincible they think they are, has a breaking point. A capacity for madness lies within every mind, Uther warned his son. Up until the past few days, Arthur had never really understood why his father had chosen to share that particular pearl of wisdom with his only son. Now, however, with destruction and chaos threatening to destroy everything he had strived to build he began to see the lesson's importance. Half the battle was recognizing you were on the path to insanity, Arthur realized.

He didn't feel particularly crazy, but he felt a sort of pressure building against the inside of his skull. Arthur recognized the sensation for what it was and clamped his thoughts tightly around it lest it wriggle free of him. Once it had, the king suspected he would rant and rave, screaming obscenities and threats to gods who could not hear him. Even now, the urge to shout for no reason at all became so strong that he let out a strangled laugh to keep it from rushing up his throat.

Merlin, eyes unfocused and rather dazed, stared at him, expression concerned, but he didn't comment. Perhaps he was saving his king embarrassment or perhaps he simply couldn't muster the energy to open his mouth, but either way the result was the same. Leon, however, had a great deal of energy and seemed to have no qualms about calling his sovereign out on his strange bark of laughter.

"Sire," the elder knight asked quietly. "Are you alright?"

"Fine," Arthur coughed. "Just thinking of something Merlin said earlier is all."

Merlin glanced at him again and frowned, but still kept his lips pressed into a thin line. He was still slumped against the castle walkway, feet protruding haphazardly in front of him as if daring some hapless guard to trip over him. His companion, the little village girl, had been reluctantly plucked away by her older brother who had been instructed to return to the castle in order to be properly armed. Milda, he was sure, would be doted upon by his wife and Awen and he ensured the worried young man that Gwen would take care of the child as if the little girl were her own. Of course, Arthur mused, by the time this was all over he wouldn't be surprised if Gwen, a nurturing soul by nature, had claimed the child as her own flesh and blood.

"Your orders," Leon said softly, watching his king carefully.

"Evacuate the Lower Town," Arthur commanded. "Make sure they understand the time constraint, Leon. I don't want any stragglers left behind and we need to get this done as quickly as possible. I can only handle a loopy Merlin for so long. Next thing you know he'll be asking me to check if his tongue is fuzzy."

"Not loopy," Merlin mumbled.

"Sure, Merlin. Whatever you say."

Leon grinned slightly and saluted in the customary manner before making his way down the steep tower stairs and up the path into the Lower Town. Arthur watched him go for a moment then turned back to help lift his friend to his feet.

"Come on," he said, grasping the warlock by the shoulders and supporting him as he climbed unsteadily to his feet. "We have a witch to free, remember?"

"How could I forget," Merlin said blandly. "Why is it we get to have all the fun, Arthur? Maybe you should stop being so selfish and share the adventure once in awhile, hmm?"

The young man stumbled at the foot of the stairs and Arthur barely had time to catch him before he spilled down the steps in what could have been a rather magnificent tumble.

"Less talking," Arthur grumbled. "More walking. You can't do both at the same time, apparently."

"Sorry," Merlin gasped, grimacing. "It's…they're testing the wall, Arthur. The demons…they're trying to break through it with magic and I can't—it's slipping, Arthur. The shield wall is slipping and I can't concentrate."

"Try," Arthur rasped, watching in horror as a single speed drip of blood gushed down from Merlin's nose.

"Quiet," Merlin spat harshly, hands clasping his head tightly as if to keep his brain from exploding outwards.

Arthur stood silently, wishing he had the power to assist his friend. He could only watch, however, and he did so with growing anxiety. The warlock's tendons stood out against his skin and his breath came in sporadic gulps of air as if he momentarily forgot he had to breathe.

Suddenly, Merlin looked up sharply, eyes muddy with exhaustion, but clearer than they had been moments before. He seemed to be looking down over Arthur's shoulder and his expression was one of confusion and relief. Arthur turned and found Morgana and Guinevere standing a few feet a part. They seemed oblivious to the obvious distance between them, but the king wasn't complaining. He wanted Gwen as far away from his sister as she could possibly get.

"Can you hold it," Merlin asked quietly, studying Morgana with something akin to grudging respect.

"Not by myself," the witch answered. "But, with the two of us we should be able to hold them off long enough to accomplish our tasks."

"She's helping you," Arthur asked Merlin softly. "With the wall?"

"It would seem so," Merlin replied with a slight frown. "Look and see."

Arthur looked over his shoulder at the glimmering mass of energy and he didn't know if he should be relieved or concerned by what he saw there. The vibrant blue of Merlin's magic was now mixed with an almost black, inky mass making the shield almost opaque.

"It didn't always look like that," Morgana explained sadly. "It used to be something beautiful, but now…well, just look at it and make your own assumptions."

Both Arthur and Merlin chose not to comment on why her magic had changed, but neither of them had to. If Morgana was to be believed she knew better than anyone that her deeds had withered her soul to nothing but a dark husk and that her magic, directly correlated to her soul, was bound to suffer for it.

"How did you get out," Arthur barked, briefly glancing at Guinevere who flushed with guilt.

"I let her out," she explained calmly, though her cheeks were tinted pink. "You already had so much going on, Arthur. I wanted to do something to help you and I knew you were going to need her and—"

"How many ways did she threaten to kill you if you backstabbed us, Morgana," Arthur interrupted, looking from his wife to his sister with a knowing smile.

"Only a hundred," Morgana replied sweetly. "And she was very professional about the whole endeavor, Arthur. You should be proud. She's become quite the diplomat."

"I am proud," Arthur said honestly. "Though her skills in the fine art of diplomacy have nothing to do with me. She's naturally talented."

"No time," Merlin reminded Arthur softly. "We have work to do, sire, and no time to do it in."

"Right," Arthur replied as his façade of calm began to slip again. "Morgana you stay with Merlin and help him with the enchantments. Most of them have already been taken care of so there is just the closing of the rock wall we will have to deal with."

"Once I switch my magic over to sealing the refugees in the caves I won't be able to keep the shield up. You'll be on your own from that point on, Arthur."

"Understood," Arthur said. "Gwen, you and I need to make sure that Gaius and Awen have everything they need for the healings tonight. I have a feeling our Fair Folk friend is going to have her hands full. You will be helping her."

"But—", Gwen began, stopping at the look her husband gave her.

"Not now," he told her gently. "We can talk about this later, though my answer will be the same."

She glared at him, but did not argue and Arthur felt a surge of gratitude that she chose not to pursue her wishes at that moment. He wasn't sure he could have handled having his wife angry with him.

"The soldiers and I will rendezvous down in the Lower Town in three hours time," Arthur continued on. "I trust you can hold the shield until then, Merlin?"

"With Morgana assisting that shouldn't be a problem," Merlin replied.

Arthur glanced at his friend and was relieved to see that color had returned to his cheeks and his eyes no longer had the overly bright, feverish glint to them. He was still exhausted, of course, but Arthur preferred exhaustion over sickly any day of the week.

"Good," Arthur grunted. "I believe we all know what we should be doing so lets do it."

Time became something of a blur after that. Arthur completed tasks with a sort of fevered intensity. He could hear himself barking orders, but it was as if the words were coming from a mouth that did not belong to him. His body buckled armor, saddled horses, sharpened swords, but his mind was elsewhere. He had brief moments of lucidity where he would come back to himself and he'd realize that he was somewhere completely different from where he'd been before.

Arthur had danced to this tune before. It was like this for him before every battle and he welcomed his ability to disconnect from the situation they were facing, if only for a moment. He watched through a haze as the last of the townsfolk were herded gently through the gaping mouth of the cave and all the soldiers other than himself and the knights found their positions in the lower town.

After the tasks were all said and done, however, there was nothing to do but wait. Arthur hated this agonizing period of time more than any other because, without a task to occupy him, he was brought back into the real world once more. When he did he found himself half dressed in his chambers, armor strewn haphazardly about the bed and he that somewhere Merlin lurked.

Arthur heard a jarring crash and he jumped slightly. The warlock grinned at him sheepishly then began to pick up the iron plates and cups that he'd spilled on the floor. He had Excalibur in his hands, clutching the blade to his chest as if the weapon were a lover.

"I had Excalibur sharpened and shined like you asked," he said, holding the sword out to him.

"You didn't have to do that," Arthur scolded softly, taking the bundle of metal from his arms and laying it gently across the table. "That isn't your job anymore, you know."

"I know," Merlin replied. "I just—I don't know, I guess I wanted to do one last chore for you. For old time's sake."

"Merlin," Arthur said quietly, glaring suspiciously at his friend. "What did you do to my sword?"

"I don't know what you mean, si—"

"You wanted to do one last chore for me? Please, how stupid do you think I am…on second thought, don't answer that, but I know you did something."

"I may have enhanced it a bit," Merlin answered, flushing red.

"A bit? What's a bit?"

"Well, if it works properly you should—"

"If it works properly? You don't even know if it is going to work?"

"Have a little faith, Arthur. It should work fine. You'll thank me later."

"I doubt it, Merlin. Is it going to explode or something?"

"Nothing so dramatic," Merlin sighed. "Honestly, all I did was work a little charm on the hilt of the blade. You'll never be able to lose it, Arthur. All you have to do is say 'cadw gryf' and the magic will be activated. I tried to make the words of the Old Tongue as idiot proof as possible for you."

"Cadw gryf," Arthur repeated, holding up the blade and watching, enchanted, as the magic raced up his sword and made it glow a pleasant shade of green. "Would you look at that, Merlin? It actually worked."

"You'll never have to worry about your blade being knocked out of your hands ever again," Merlin smiled. "It makes me feel a little better about not being by your side tonight."

"Thank you," Arthur said softly. "I don't—what I mean to say is—I want you to know that I, um, I—"

"I know," Merlin whispered. "Me to, Arthur."

"You'll be safe, right? You won't do anything stupid? Promise me you won't do something idiotic, Merlin."

"I promise," Merlin said immediately.

"Somehow I don't feel assured," Arthur grimaced. "Merlin, if this whole thing ends badly—"

"It won't."

"But if it does—"

"We are going to beat this, Arthur."

"Sure, whatever you say, but I feel I should tell you that—"

"Don't worry, sire. Everything will be—"

"Would you shut up a minute and let me speak," Arthur snapped. "I just wanted you to know how much your friendship has meant to me, Merlin. I don't tell you very often, but it's been an honor to be able to share the last few years with you and I count myself lucky to have you as a friend."

"Wow," Merlin said after a moment. "You really laid it all out there, didn't you?"

"Never mind," Arthur growled. "Forget I ever said anything, Merlin."

"Arthur," Merlin grinned. "You didn't tell me anything I didn't already know. You may not say it very often, but you show it everyday. I wouldn't have stuck around as long as I have if I didn't feel the same way."

Arthur grunted and rolled his eyes, but Merlin's smile grew. Both men jumped when a tentative knock interrupted their moment of bonding and Arthur was both relieved and disappointed to see Gwen standing uncertainly outside the room.

"Can you give us a moment," Arthur asked his friend.

"Of course," Merlin replied hurriedly. "I've got my own damsel to comfort anyways and a mother who needs reassuring. I'll see you out there, old friend. One way or the other, I suppose."

"Don't let Awen hear you calling her a damsel," Arthur laughed as Gwen gave Merlin a chaste kiss on the cheek. "And don't die, all right?"

"I'll see what I can do," Merlin grinned before disappearing out the door and out of sight.

Arthur watched him go and struggled against the urge to pull him back. Perhaps he could jump the warlock before he realized what was occurring and lock him up in his own magic resistant cell where he stood a chance at being safe.

"He'll be fine," Guinevere whispered, sensing his thoughts. "You need to be worrying more for yourself and less for him."

"I'm not entirely sure that is possible when it comes to the two of us," Arthur replied dryly. "I'm not used to him being this capable, Gwen. I've always protected him, or so I thought, but now…it's like he doesn't need me anymore."

"He does," Gwen insisted, grabbing her husband's mail and slipping it gently over his head. "He just needs you in a different way. Your friendship is everything to him, Arthur."

"I know," Arthur whispered. "I would be nothing without the two of you, Gwen. I love you, you know that?"

"I do," Gwen replied, kissing him softly. "Which is why you are going to let me fight by your side."

"I had hoped you had moved past this," Arthur groaned against her lips.

"I don't give in so easily," she teased, pulling back from him and slipping the chest plate around his shoulders.

"You aren't fighting, Gwen. I won't say it again."

"Why can't I fight," Guinevere snapped, buckling the plate a little tighter than necessary.

"I can't be worrying about you out there," Arthur explained. "I'm not saying you aren't capable, but I need you safe. I won't be able to keep my mind on the task at hand if I am thinking about where you are at all times. Can't you see that?"

"Yes," Gwen whispered. " I can, but—Arthur, what if I lose you?"

"Gwen," Arthur sighed, pulling her close. "I'll come back to you. One way or the other I will always come back."

He had kissed her then and as he walked slowly down to the Lower Town and to his waiting men he could still feel the tingle of her lips on his own. The sun was just beginning it's slow ascent behind the mountains in the east and its scant rays sent eerie shadows skittering across the deserted streets. He could see the shield wall up ahead holding firm against the demon onslaught and he sent a silent prayer of gratitude to the gods for providing him with time.

Arthur looked up and watched the two dragons circling restlessly like hawks in the sky. Their part in the battle would begin the moment the shield wall came shattering down and the king couldn't help an apprehensive shiver that raced down his spine.

"Sire," a voice whispered from the shadows causing Arthur to nearly come out of his skin. "Over here, my lord. The men have gathered and are awaiting your orders."

Arthur turned to see Gwaine grinning at him like a loon and Arthur rolled his eyes. He followed the knight around the corner and into the town square where his ragtag force of men stood waiting. Each had the tiny talisman Merlin had enchanted held tightly in their fists and the king knew that once he gave the order they would all disappear from sight.

"Men," he called to them. "I haven't had the honor of serving with most of you, but I can honestly say that I am proud to have you at my side tonight. I know that I ask a great deal from you, but I would not ask for your sacrifice if I was not prepared to make the same sacrifice myself. Tonight we do not fight for Camelot. We do not fight for land or power. Tonight we fight for family. We fight for the right to hear our children laugh. We fight for the blood of our brothers and the souls of our sisters. And most of all, we fight for each other. If we spill blood let us spill it as one. If we conquer let us conquer as one. Tonight, no matter what walk of life we come from, we are brothers. We are fathers and sons. We are friends. I am honored to fight with you, my brothers. And I am honored to die with you.

If we fall then we do so with bravery. We die knowing that we stood against the powers of darkness for as long as we could. We died so that others may live. Fight with me, my friends! Fight for your sons and daughters! Fight for your wives! Fight for your right to be people free of fear! Fight for your right to live and die as you see fit! Fight for freedom!"

The men cheered and shouted his name and Arthur grinned fiercely. He let them go on for a moment then lifted his hand, gripping his own talisman in his palm.

"Positions," he ordered. "Talismans on, men. And remember…not a sound."

Arthur was astounded as the men slipped their talismans over their necks and were immediately invisible. He could hear their armor shuffling to and fro as they made their way to their positions, but there was no sign of them anywhere.

"Merlin pulled through for us," Gwaine whispered to Arthur as he surveyed the scene.

"Thank the gods for small mercies," Arthur breathed, grasping his own talisman and slipping it about his neck.

Gwaine followed suit and disappeared from sight. Arthur took a moment to become oriented and was surprised to find that he could see himself quite clearly.

"Am I invisible," he hissed to Gwaine. "I can see myself."

"Well, I can't," the knight replied. "I think it is just how the spell works."

"Let's hope so," Arthur muttered.

He crouched into his position and turned his eyes to the shield wall. There was silence on the streets of Camelot and he could hear the faint humming of power from the wall. Suddenly, it flickered briefly. Then, with a sudden hiss of finality, it disappeared completely.


	16. The Seven Deadly Virtues

Merlin was a naturally clumsy man and had been all of his life. It was as if the gods who had seen fit to grant him such great magical gifts felt that also gracing him with physical prowess and athletic ability might be seen as favoritism. He had been falling over his own feet for so long now that he rarely felt embarrassed or awkward in any situation because he knew, sooner or later, he would probably make an ass of himself.

Of course, he seemed to be making up for his life's lack of awkward moments in a single day. What was he supposed to say to a witch who quite possibly hated him and had tried to kill him on more than one occasion? Fine weather we're having today? Did you happen to catch the arm wrestling match in the pub last night? Hey, Morgana, do you remember the time you killed the king?

Morgana, however, didn't seem to catch on to Merlin's discomfort or felt extremely uncomfortable herself and dealt with it by talking rather than with silence. Merlin prided himself on his ability to chatter incessantly, but strangely Morgana was putting even him to shame.

"I was hoping we could talk about your magic," she said as they watched towns people file into the cave Merlin had opened up.

"What about it," Merlin grunted, choosing to looking anywhere but at her.

"How long have you had it, Merlin?"

"I already told you. Long enough."

"Since you were a young man? A child?"

"I was a baby," Merlin finally sighed. "I was doing magic before I could even walk."

"A baby," Morgana murmured in awe. "Well, it certainly explains a lot. And the dragons? How do you know them?"

"Why are you asking me all this," Merlin snapped, turning to study her suspiciously.

"I just—I'm curious," Morgana whispered. "I feel like I don't know you at all, Merlin."

"You don't," he said irritably. "You never really did, Morgana."

Morgana was quiet for a moment and Merlin felt relief flood through him. He met Arthur's eyes from across the room and the king smiled at him encouragingly. He grinned back, but he could tell from the way Arthur frowned that his smile was tight. Merlin jerked his head slightly in Morgana's direction and rolled his eyes. Arthur laughed.

Merlin spotted Milda waving at him frantically from across the room, eyes wide and excited. Her other hand remained clasped tightly in Bedwyr's and he nodded in quiet greeting at the warlock as the line of people moved steadily forward.

"It seems you've made a new friend," Morgana whispered, smiling softly.

"I guess so," Merlin grunted. "She's sweet."

"Merlin," Morgana said hesitantly. "I want you to know that I—"

"Can we not," Merlin asked abruptly. "I thought I could pretend with you, but I can't. It's too tiring. I don't know what we are, Morgana, but we aren't chums or friends or anything else. We're…we're just two people with similar goals. Let's not try and make it out to be something it isn't, all right?"

"I—I'm sorry," Morgana said. "This whole thing has been very strange."

Merlin snorted and smiled slightly. The witch could say that again. Merlin had learned from experience to expect the unexpected but the past few days had been more surprising than most.

Merlin glanced at Morgana from beneath his lowered lashes and found her smiling hopefully at his chortle. He sighed and shook his head slightly and felt a surprising surge of guilt as her face fell. Morgana, he reminded himself, started this whole mess. Don't forget that, Merlin. If you don't forget that you won't fall for any tricks.

He blew a frustrated breath from between his lips and looked back out at the crowd of people once more. He caught sight of his mother helping an elderly woman take hitching steps towards the mouth of the cave. He smiled at her kindness, but she refused to look at him. Their conversation earlier hadn't ended as well as he had hoped and he felt certain that he had not alleviated her fears in the slightest.

She had hugged him close to her for what felt like hours and his back had begun to cramp by the time she finally released him. When she had pulled back Merlin could see tear tracks on her cheeks and he gently wiped them away with the sleeve of his tunic.

"Mother," he had whispered. "Don't cry. Please don't cry. I am going to be fine. You'll see."

"Sometimes I wonder if I made a mistake in sending you here," Hunith whispered.

"Of course you didn't. Mother, I know I look—well, I look awful, but I swear I'm happier than I ever have been. Please believe that."

"And your nightmares," the woman asked pointedly. "Are you happy about them?"

"How did you," Merlin began, than pursed his lips in annoyance. "Awen. She told you, didn't she?"

"She might have mentioned them," Hunith replied softly. "Don't be angry with her, Merlin. She thought I already knew. There seems to be a pattern occurring here."

"I'm sorry," Merlin said. "I would have—"

"Merlin," Hunith interrupted. "What happened six months ago?"

"I told you. I don't want to talk about—"

"Well, I do. I'm your mother, Merlin. I deserve to know. I know I said I would respect your wishes to not to discuss it, but circumstances have changed. There is a lot more to this whole thing than you are telling me."

"Now is really not a good time," Merlin whispered. "After, all right? I'll tell you after."

"No," Hunith said harshly. "I look at you, Merlin, and I don't see the son I raised."

"What," Merlin gasped. "What do you mean?"

"The lies," Hunith cried. "When do you start lying to me? We've always been honest with each other and now you treat me like I'm Arthur. Why don't you trust me?"

"I do. I just—"

"Then tell me," Hunith pleaded. "Tell me what is going on, Merlin."

"I'm trying to protect you," Merlin growled, suddenly angry. "Can't you see that? That's all I ever do, isn't it? I protect people and instead of understanding they get angry with me. I don't—why can't you see that I'm only trying to keep you safe?"

"Oh, Merlin. I'm not angry with you. I am worried for you. I am scared for my child, Merlin. A mother has that right. I see you trying to save everyone and that is what concerns me. No man can bear the weight of the world on his shoulders, son. Not even a powerful warlock like yourself. I want to help you bear that burden, as every mother should, but you won't let me."

Merlin shook his head and grimaced, moving away to stand by the open window. He gazed down into the courtyard and watched as knights and servants scurried to and fro about their business. He swallowed past the lump and his throat and opened his mouth to say something to appease her, but no words came out.

"Please," Hunith begged behind him. "Don't shut me out, Merlin. Let me help you."

"What am I supposed to say," Merlin asked finally. "Am I supposed to tell you that I was nearly destroyed by an evil so powerful that it would have walked around for eternity in my body? Do you want to know how I was tortured relentlessly in the hopes that I would break down and let it have its way? Is that what you want to hear mother?"

"Merlin," Hunith gasped. "I—"

"It used you," Merlin said flatly. "It used you to hurt me. I think that was the worst part of it all, you know. The way it used the people I love against me. I couldn't stand to be anywhere near Arthur for days after and I still flinch when he moves too quickly. I dream about it. Some nights I can sleep without the nightmares, but most nights I relive it all in my head. I probably will for some time.

There are headaches to. Sometimes they are so bad I'm positive my head is about to split in half. I'm exhausted all the time and I constantly feel…I don't know how to explain it. It's like…it's like I'm trapped and I can't get free no matter how hard I try. I tell myself that everything is fine, but the feeling gets worse and worse until I'm about ready to crawl out of my skin. Gaius says its anxiety and he's given me ways to help control it, but it never really goes away. It's always there, just beneath the surface and sometimes I wonder if I'm going crazy.

Arthur tries to help. He tries so hard and I know I don't make it easy on him. Everyone cares so much, mother. I love them for it, I really do, but sometimes…it feels like I'm choking. Is that awful? It seems so silly and petty to feel like that when everyone is only trying to help, just like you, but they don't realize that all I want…all I really want is quiet. They watch and they worry and somehow it makes it all harder because—"

"Because you feel like you have to be all right even when you aren't," Hunith finished with a sad smile.

"It sounds horrible, doesn't it," Merlin whispered. "I'm lucky to have people who care for me that much and I know I am, but sometimes I wish I could just be left alone."

"It's not horrible," Hunith told her son, taking his hands into her own. "It's human, Merlin. We all deal with pain in our own way, but we have to deal with it. You need to talk to Arthur after all this is over. Let him know how you are feeling. He'll understand and I'm sure he'll give you the time you'll need to come to terms with what happened."

"I can't just bow out," Merlin sighed. "There will be so much to do, mother. We've barely scratched the surface on what we plan to do with the magic law and after tonight's battle the clean up alone will take months. How can I think of throwing Arthur to the wolves like that? We've faced everything together and he's put his trust in me. I can't forsake that now."

"Merlin," Hunith said firmly. "I never said anything about forsaking Arthur. Taking time to heal your mind and soul isn't forsaking anyone, my boy. If anything it will help you face the coming days with greater strength and renewed purpose. You are on the edge, can't you see? Everyone else can."

"I know," Merlin whispered harshly. "I know I am, mother, but I—I can't—"

He was horrified when tears began to blur his vision and he made to wipe them away, but his mother stopped him with a gentle hand. He heard himself choke out a sob and before he knew it he was wrapped tightly in his mother's arms, shoulders hitching with the force of his tears.

He could feel her own tears wetting the back of his shirt and he willed himself to stop crying, but his body refused to obey him. This was not the way he wanted their farewell to go. He had wanted to be strong for her, had wanted to show her the man he had become, but instead he was blubbering like an idiot in her arms.

"I'm so sorry," he heard Hunith whispering. "Oh, Merlin, I am so sorry."

He pulled away at her words and his tears immediately ceased. He rubbed the wetness from his cheeks and closed his eyes so he wouldn't have to look at her lovingly earnest face. He would only start crying again. He could feel a headache beginning to form at the base of his skull and he pushed the pain away. There would be no time for pain tonight.

"I have to go," he whispered. "I'm sorry to leave like this but I—"

"I understand," Hunith interrupted. "You have to save the world again."

"Not the world," Merlin said with a small smile. "Just the fool I call a king."

"And a friend," Hunith whispered. "Never forget that."

"Believe me," Merlin replied. "I couldn't if I tried."

She hugged him again, hard, and he wrapped his arms around her and squeezed gently. He felt her crying again, but he didn't know what to say to make it any better.

"Be safe," she had whispered. "Please, Merlin, just be safe."

He replayed their conversation over in his mind as he watched her with the old woman and his heart felt heavy in his chest. He felt the echo of her tears on his shirt and he wanted nothing more than to walk into the cave with her so he could ease her worry. But he couldn't or, more importantly, he wouldn't.

He comforted himself with the thought of Awen. That particular farewell had been a great deal easier and had been rather enjoyable. They hadn't said much, which suited Merlin just fine. The feel of his lips against hers was more than enough to get him through the evening and the memory of his hands against her skin brought a silly grin to his face.

"My brother smiles like that when he talks to Charis," said a little voice and Merlin jumped almost a foot in the air.

He looked down to see Milda grinning up at him, green eyes sparkling with the merriment that only the young maintain. He smiled back and she took his hand.

"She wanted to say goodbye," Bedwyr grinned, watching Merlin closely for signs of annoyance. "She's taken quite a shine to you it seems."

"You aren't the first person to mention that," Merlin laughed. "It's alright. I'm not adverse to a little attention."

"Magic Man," Milda whispered. "I have a present for you, but it's a secret. Our eyes only."

Merlin smiled and she pulled him over to a more secluded corner. He crouched down to her height and nearly laughed as she looked over his shoulders to see if anyone was watching. Seeing that the coast was clear she took a small, cloth wrapped bundle from a small pouch she wore at her side. She unwrapped it gently and held it up for him to see.

At first, Merlin couldn't figure out just what we was looking at, but then he realized what was tethered at the end of the thin leather thong she was holding. It was a tooth, polished and sanded so that any jagged edges it may have had once was lost to rounded edges and a pearly shine.

"A dragon's tooth," Milda whispered reverently. "My father won it for me during a card game once. He said that it would bring me good luck and it has, for the most part anyways. I don't think anyone can have good luck all the time, you know. Bedwyr says that good luck all the time turns people mean and I think he's right, don't you? Anyways, I wanted you to have it because you will probably need it more than I will."

"Milda," Merlin said softly. "I can't take this. This is yours…your father gave it to you and I—"

She threw her arms around his neck and hugged him. He had to put out an arm to keep from overbalancing, but after he'd steadied them he returned her hug gently.

"Please take it," she breathed by his ear. "I thought about giving it to Bedwyr, but you're the Magic Man. You'll protect him so I wanted to protect you. You will protect him, won't you? He's all I have."

"I'll do my best," Merlin whispered, touched. "That's all I can promise, Milda."

She kissed his cheek and put the thong around his neck. He watched her scamper back to her brother and the young farmer nodded to him from across the room. He smiled back then made his way over to where Morgana stood waiting for him.

Time went quickly after that. The last of the towns people had trickled into the cave and the knights dispersed to make their way down to the Lower Town and their defensive positions. Arthur went with them and Merlin politely asked Morgana to wait for him while he gave his king the gift he'd enchanted.

When he left Arthur's chambers and made his way back down to the lower halls he couldn't help the flare of fear he felt for his friend. Arthur would be alone down in the pits of the Lower Town and there would be nothing Merlin could do if something happened to him. He knew, of course, that the knights who fought at his side would die before allowing harm to befall him, but seeing as they were also his friends the thought brought him little comfort.

True, he had never been directly beside Arthur during the many battles for Camelot they had been through, but now that his king knew his secret it seemed almost like a betrayal for him to not be at his side.

Merlin cringed at the guilt that swept through him. He had told Arthur that there would be no more secrets between them, but that statement hadn't been entirely true. There was one more secret Merlin had and he was certain that, if he survived, his king would be furious with him.

He sighed and turned down the hall towards the area where Morgana and Bedwyr would be waiting for him to seal up the caves. To his surprise he found the witch waiting for him just outside the door that led to the caverns.

"Morgana," he said cautiously. "Is everything all right?"

"I've been thinking," she replied. "About your plan, I mean. Something didn't make sense to me, Merlin, and the more I thought about it the more right the feeling seemed. You lied to Arthur, didn't you?"

"He had enough on his mind," Merlin snapped defensively. "He never would have left me if he knew what I had planned."

"So I'm right," Morgana whispered. "You never planned on being anywhere near the castle when you did the spell. I wondered how you were going to get the spell to work from all the way up here."

"It wouldn't," Merlin said. "I have to be closer for the magic to work which means we'll have to be in the middle of it all. Do you think you can handle that, Morgana?"

"I don't have much of a choice," Morgana answered. "It's my neck on the line as well, but I wonder how you plan on getting down there. The demon's will feel your power from a mile away no matter how hard you try to hide it."

"I know," Merlin replied simply. "I've planned for that, Morgana. We'll have to fight, I'm sure, and there is always the possibility that we won't make it to where we need to go, but the plan doesn't change."

"And where exactly are we going," Bedwyr asked, coming from around the door.

"The tavern," Merlin answered with a small smile. "It's higher than the other buildings and it offers the best view of the area Arthur will be fighting in."

"And since it is higher," Morgana said. "Kilgarrah will be able to get to you, easier."

"Yes," Merlin confirmed. "And once Bedwyr helps us get to the tavern he will be able to join up with Arthur and keep him from doing anything stupid."

"Like coming after you," Morgana asked with a smirk.

"Exactly," Merlin grunted. "The second he sees me up there he'll be an idiot and get himself killed. I can't be worrying about him, Bedwyr. He can't order you around like he can the rest of them so I'm counting on you to keep him focused."

"I think I can handle that," Bedwyr said with a raucous grin.

"Right," Merlin said, blowing out a breath. "Are we ready for this?"

"Would it change anything if I said no," Morgana asked quietly.

"No," Merlin replied with a laugh. "It really wouldn't."

"Then I guess I am as ready as I'll ever be," the witch said. "'You can count on me, Merlin."

He looked at her and knew that his expression must have been strange. Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion and her lips turned down into a frown. Bedwyr shuffled back and forth on his feet obviously feeling uncomfortable at the awkward silence.

"I suppose we'll soon see," Merlin said softly ending the moment.

He turned from her and grit his teeth as he whispered the words to close the cave. As he did so he felt the walls of his earlier spell crumble and he sent a quick prayer to the gods to keep Arthur safe.

Please, he thought desperately. Please keep them all safe.

"Let's kick some demon ass," Bedwyr crowed with a warrior's glee.

Merlin couldn't agree more.


	17. From Hell's Heart I Stab at Thee

**Author's Note: **_I know everyone is worried about Morgana and Merlin reconciling, but I promise that if you wait until the end of the story you won't be disappointed. Or at least I hope you won't. I can't say how or in what capacity but Morgana plays an integral role in the next story. Also, this chapter gets a little…well, intense and it may be a little graphic. Just so you are forewarned. Anyways, thank you for the reviews and please review more because it seems like unless I ask for them I don't get very many. P.s.-I know that Halloween is still over a month away but can I just say how stoked I am! Halloween in New York is amazing and I am still trying to decide what I want to be for the New York Halloween Parade! Suggestions? My friends and I are going to be marching this year and then we're going to Capitale and Greenhouse, which are these clubs that have the best Halloween parties ever! WOOT! Did I mention I love Halloween?_

Gwaine had never considered himself a serious man, at least not in most matters. He lived by a simple philosophy that any given situation, no matter how dire it seemed, could be easier if laughter was involved. A former lover had pleasantly told him that he had a devil's grin and that he deployed it at some truly ghastly times. Of course, his sister had also accused him of the same affliction. That particular encounter hadn't been near as pleasant as the first, but the fact remained that Gwaine usually tried not to let life's quirky roadblocks get him down.

Now, as he stood waiting beside a motionless Arthur he couldn't even muster a smile. His heart thudded painfully against his ribs and every sound nearly had him bolting, which was saying something because the two dragons were raising holy hell above him.

The two beasts roared out curses in the old tongue and there were cracks like thunder as their bursts of fire heated the air around them. He could feel Arthur shift uneasily beside him and he drew comfort from the fact that his king, who always seemed so fearless in almost every situation, seemed to be at least a little nervous. It was strange, Gwaine had to admit, feeling Arthur pressed up against him, but not being able to see the man.

Gwaine felt the sudden urge to make a joke about their unusually close proximity to each other, but he squelched the words down before they could escape his throat. It would be just his luck to have the demon's approach at the exact moment he chose to speak. At this moment in time, Arthur would probably revoke his knighthood or something equally dramatic if he so much as whimpered.

Gwaine was studying the spot where his sovereign would be crouched and, at first, didn't notice the tendrils of icy fog that began to creep through the dirty streets. It was only when Arthur tensed that he looked towards the lower gates and drew in a quiet breath of shock.

The mist curled around his feet and Gwaine felt a sharp stab of cold shoot up his leg and his heart seized with fear. There was something evil lurking within the fog, Gwaine knew, some ancient presence that would grind his bones to dust if given half a chance. When it touched his skin he had to bite back a scream and he heard Arthur gasp quietly beside him. Fear. A fear so horrible and unrelenting that Gwaine felt like an animal trapped within a hunter's gaze. No way out. Death.

He wanted to run, but he held his ground and he wondered if others were faring as well as he was. He highly doubted it and his concerns proved true only moments later. He heard one of the men give a horrible choked scream and then the young man burst into view so suddenly that Gwaine jumped. He clutched his removed talisman in his fists and attempted to flee, but instead of running away from the fog he ran into it.

Gwaine held his breath for a long moment, but there was no sound from within the mist and he blew it out. Then, as if from a nightmare, there came a horrid, gagging scream from within the shadows of the fog and Gwaine could hear the sound of breaking bone and tearing flesh. Almost as suddenly as the scream began it was jerked off and died in an agonized wheeze of air. The smell of blood and a faint sour decay filled Gwaine's nostrils and he gagged, the odor like a living creature clawing up his throat.

In years to come the unlikely knight would never really know if the young man's horrendous death or the smell of their opponents was the cause of their undoing. No matter what the reason, the result was the same and Gwaine knew instantly that their plan, as genius as it was, was going to fail.

Men from all around them were suddenly overcome with a fear so unrelenting that it forced any semblance of control they might have held. Soldiers threw off their talismans with screams of horror and ran directly into the claws of the demons hitching forward through the mist.

"Damn it," Arthur snarled from beside him. "What the hell are they doing?"

"Running," Gwaine gulped. "Dying."

Gwaine felt Arthur leave his side and it was with great reluctance that he followed his king. He had to pull himself together. He was not a coward and he was certainly not a deserter. He bit his tongue hard and with the salty tang of iron came new resolve and fierce determination. His lips pulled back from his teeth in a predatory smile and he drew his sword from its place on his belt.

The mist was everywhere now and Gwaine paused to watch the horrors within come lurching among them. He had never seen a mutilated corpse, let alone a decomposed one, and now that he had he was quite sure he was going to have to scrub the image from his eyes.

Some of the beasts didn't have jaws or noses, while others had skulls that had been smashed in or eyes that hung from decayed strings of muscle. Their forms hitched and writhed, gyrated and lurched grotesquely and Gwaine could hear their joints crackling from lack of use. Skin hung in patches and was mottled colors of grey, green, magenta and blue. There was no blood, thank the gods, but even this small mercy couldn't keep the bile from rising in the knight's throat.

Screams echoed throughout the fog and Gwaine realized with a start that Arthur had disappeared into the midst of it all. No pun intended, Gwaine thought and choked out a harsh laugh. He ran forward and instantly came to the conclusion that being invisible at the moment was a very bad idea. Any semblance of form or order had long ago crumbled and he kept running into other warriors as they scrambled to either help their fallen comrades or escape the bloodshed.

From the corner of his eye he saw Arthur throw off his own talisman and swing Excalibur in a lethal arc before bringing it down upon a demon who had it's talons buried deep in a man's belly. The demon howled, jerking its claws out of flesh and rounded upon the king, but before it could strike an unnatural light seemed to burn it from within and before long the creature had burst into bright green flames.

"Talismans off," Arthur roared, dragging the injured young soldier back from the dying demon. "Stand firm, men! We have to stand firm!"

Gwaine pocketed his tiny amulet of invisibility and he felt a great weight fall from his shoulders. His brothers in arms appeared around him one by one and his strength and confidence surged at the sight of them. He wasn't alone in this; his friends hadn't abandoned him.

The soldiers regrouped as quickly as they could and stood resolutely against the tide of monsters that moved towards their ranks. Arthur remained at the front of the group and Gwaine pushed his way through to stand beside him. Leon, Percival and Elyan joined him moments later and he grinned with pride.

His smile quickly fell when he noticed that each demon held a refugee as a shield in front of them. How the hell were they supposed to fight the damn things if they couldn't get to them? He looked to Arthur and saw the king's jaw tighten with rage.

Gwaine could hear the collective gasps of horror as row by row the soldiers realized what the demons were using as shields. He felt their shock echoing his own and he closed his eyes when he noticed that one of the captives could be no older than thirteen.

"Arthur," he began. "How will we—"

"Quiet," Arthur commanded, voice harsher than Gwaine could ever remember.

"King of Camelot," a demon gurgled, pushing its way to the front of its ranks. "I would speak to you."

"Then speak," Arthur spat. "But do it quickly. I find my patience running thin."

"The boy thinks to command me," the demon laughed. "What a fool you are, King of Camelot. I will take great enjoyment from your death, boy. Perhaps I shall rip out your spine, hmm?"

Arthur said nothing and Gwaine felt the tension rise a notch. The soldiers were getting restless behind him. Standing still in a battle was never a good thing and could be devastating to a warrior's resolve.

"I would make a deal with you," the demon continued with a jawless grin. "I know that you have a powerful warlock within these walls. I feel his blood calling to me, King of Camelot. His flesh will be mine tonight regardless of whether you agree to my terms. I will let your precious refugees free, however, if you give him to me without a fight. You will all die eventually, but at least your conscience will be clear, hmmm?"

"Go to hell," Arthur snarled. "You won't put one hand on him, you filthy bastard."

The demon's rotten lip curled into a smile and he laughed, the sound horribly wet and rasping in Gwaine's ears.

"Words of the hopeless and the damned," the creature said. "So be it, King of Camelot. When your people's blood spills and their screams fill the air, remember this moment, foolish boy. Remember those words and draw from them what little comfort they will bring you."

"Did you come here to talk," Arthur spat. "Or did you come here to fight?"

"I came here to kill," the demon said simply then raised its horrid claws in a flash and raked them wickedly across the king's armor.

The young man stumbled back, winded but unharmed and the battle for Camelot began anew. Soldiers cried out in rage and pushed forward meeting the demons in a flurry of claw and blade. The refugees, suddenly filled with renewed purpose, whirled upon their captors and attempted to free themselves by any means available to them. Some were successful, but most were not and Gwaine felt a sorrow that nearly brought him to his knees. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he watched bemused as the thirteen year old boy wriggled down and out of the demon's grasp, crawling on skinned hands and knees to freedom.

The demon made to follow, but Gwaine stepped neatly in its path and in one smooth stroke sent the creature's head bouncing across the cobbled streets. He crowed in triumph, but his cry of jubilation was quickly cut off by clawed hands that wrapped themselves around his throat. Startled, he jerked back and was horrified to find that the creature he had just beheaded was still alive and as strong as ever if the grip on his throat was anything to go by.

He whipped his sword up and somehow managed to remove both the creature's clawed hands at the wrist without cutting himself in the process. The damn things still clamped hard around his windpipe, but he was able to rip them away and he threw them, still twitching, to lie beside the flopping torso and legs.

As concentrated on his recently decapitated opponent as he was he neither saw nor heard the next demon creep up behind him. He would have been impaled upon the demon's dripping blade had it not been for the young boy who'd only regained his freedom moments before. The child had plucked a demon's sword from where it had fallen during the fight and with a grunt of effort sent it sweeping across the creature's legs. The monster howled in rage, but fell forward, the wound smoking and hissing.

Gwaine turned around, sword raised, but stopped when he found the boy looking up at him in a sort of dazed amazement and the demon cursing and convulsing on the ground.

"What did you do," Gwaine yelled, trying to be heard over the screams and snarls of the battle. "How did you make it smoke like that?"

"I hit it," the boy replied. "I hit it with this."

He held up the blade and Gwaine could have hugged him. The blades of the demons worked against them it seemed. It may not be enough to stop them completely, but at this point they needed any advantage they could get. He just had to tell the king.

"Good boy," he told the startled lad. "Get to safety, you hear."

The boy looked around him with wide eyes and Gwaine followed his gaze and realized with dawning horror that the young man was trapped in the fray. There was no clear path or exit for him to take.

"Right," Gwaine growled. "Stay close to me, boy. Don't try anything brave, all right?"

"Sure," the lad replied, handing him the demon blade. "Next time you are in trouble I'll let you handle it."

"What's your name," Gwaine asked, yanking the child hard to the side as a demon came tearing after a soldier and narrowly missing the boy as it swiped at him on its way past.

"Oren," the boy stated proudly.

"Gwaine," the knight introduced. "Most unlikely knight you're ever likely to meet. Come on, lad, we need to find the king in this mess and tell him what we've discovered, eh?"

He strode forward, keeping one hand firmly clasped around the boy's shoulder. A soldier who had had his arm torn from its socket crawled past them in a daze and Gwaine fought the urge to be sick.

There was a sudden flash of green to his left and Gwaine fought his way towards it, knowing that Arthur would be somewhere nearby. There was a rhythm to fighting that Gwaine had long ago grown accustomed to and even now he could hear the beat in his head. Sweep the blade, pull it back, step right, counterstroke, give a little ground, take it back, crosscut, step left then left again, jab, jab, jab, up and across, fake right, kill strike left. There were many different variations, of course, but the beat remained a steady welcoming presence and before he knew it he had reached his king.

He checked to make sure the boy was safely by his side then turned so that he was back to back with Arthur. The two of them smote maybe six or seven demons and Gwaine grinned fiercely.

"We…make a pretty…good team," he panted between strokes.

"Don't get cocky," Arthur grunted, twirling Excalibur expertly in his hands before cleaving a demon in two. "On a scale…of one to ten…how would you rate that kill?"

"Depends," Gwaine said, stabbing a demon through the nose and out the other side. "What…criteria…are we…using?"

"How…did it look," Arthur replied with a grin. "Damn good, good, mediocre, what?"

"Meh," Gwaine said, thrusting his sword up and gutting the monster that had crept towards the boy. "I'd say…a four, at best."

"What," Arthur yelped. "Did you…see…what I did? I split it…in half, Gwaine."

"It lacked…originality," Gwaine teased, ducking neatly beneath swiping claws.

"Originality," Arthur scoffed, sword glowing green as it cut through the belly of demon. "My sword…turns bright…green and I…split it in two and you…tell me that I…lack originality."

"I'm sorry…if I offended…my lord's delicate…sensibilities," Gwaine grunted.

"Remind me…why…I made you a knight…again, Gwaine?"

"Because of my…gorgeous looks...and winning…personality."

"Oh, that's…right. Thanks…for reminding…me."

"You should…know," Gwaine panted. "The demon's…swords can be…used against…them."

"Why…are you telling…me," Arthur asked, grunting as a demon sword connected with Excalibur in a shower of green and black sparks. "I already have a magic sword."

"Right…Princess," Gwaine growled. "I'll just…stop every…man I see…and let them know…shall I?"

"Stop," clang "calling" clang "me" clang "Princess!"

"That's right," Gwaine laughed, parrying a rather cheap shot from a small, piggy demon. "You…aren't a princess anymore…now you're…a queen."

Arthur didn't reply and Gwaine felt the king freeze behind him. He turned slightly, making sure he kept one eye in front of him and found the young man facing the demon that had threatened him earlier.

It stood grinning at him and held what looked like a ball of squirming shadows in his palms. Gwaine could feel the dark power emanating from its center and his skin crawled. Arthur couldn't seem to tear his eyes away from the orb and Gwaine felt worry slither into his gut.

"Arthur," he said hesitantly. "Hey, Princess, look at me."

The king didn't move and Gwaine moved around to his side, dragging Oren with him. Arthur continued to stare sightlessly at the little ball and no matter how hard Gwaine shook him he wouldn't look away.

"He sees the future," the demon gurgled. "Or…the future I wish for him to see. He has lost, you know. You all will lose and as soon as I've dealt with the foolish king I'll find the warlock and eat his heart."

With a snarl the demon lifted his fists and threw the ball of writhing shadows straight at Arthur. Gwaine didn't even have time to shout his name before the thing slammed into his king, denting the young man's armor with a horrific screech and sending him crashing to the ground.

Arthur twitched convulsively upon the stones then lay still. The demon laughed then hurled itself at Gwaine's throat, but the knight grasped his sword tight in both hands, hiding it behind his back, and at the last second whirled it up and plunged it deep into the things neck. It hitched and writhed against the blade, but Gwaine held firm and grimaced as its struggles only made the weapon cut deeper. Finally, after what felt like hours, the thing went still and Gwaine pulled the blade from its flesh with a sickening squelch and the demon crumpled to the ground like so much dead meat.

Whirling, he found Oren hovering protectively over Arthur's side and when his eyes met the boys he found nothing but pity staring back at him.

"He's not waking up," the boy whispered. "And I don't think he's breathing."


	18. We Must Fight To Run Away

**Author's Note: **_Hello dear readers, I am back for another round of Merlin madness. Once again I am going to caution all audiences that this chapter may be a bit graphic. Also, I know the name Awen sounds like Arwen and as much as I love Pippin and all the other hobbits I can honestly say they will not be making an appearance in this fanfic. I am no way near talented enough to figure out a crossover. Anyways, thank you for all the lovely reviews and please keep them coming. As I have said before they really help motivate me to keep writing. _

Bedwyr was not a man who casually doled out servings of blind faith. An unspoken law among the outlying villages was that outsiders were not to be trusted. This particular canon seemed to become more prevalent among the smaller villages and Bedwyr's village was about as small as one could get. After he lost his hand and his parents, the lack of trust only grew. There were many outlaws and brigands who would gladly slit your throat as soon as look at you, especially if they detected weakness of any sort.

The warlock, Merlin, however, seemed to be the one and only exception to Bedwyr's lack of faith in mankind. He had trusted the man implicitly the moment he had met him and though the king's friend had magic Bedwyr's belief in Merlin only grew. Why this was, he could not say, but at the end of the day Bedwyr was more than willing to sacrifice his life for this man if it gave Merlin the chance he needed to protect Camelot and its people.

Of course, he hadn't planned on self-sacrifice, but as the trio made their way from the castle gates and wound down the streets into the Lower Town Bedwyr couldn't help but consider the probabilities of all of them making it out alive.

There were bodies spread haphazardly across the streets, like some sort of macabre game of chess with the deceased acting as pawns and rooks. Puddles of what looked like blood gathered in moonlit pools of black that reminded Bedwyr of an ancient portal to the lands of hell. He felt bile rise in his throat and it was all he could do to keep his stomach under his control.

He dimly made out the sounds of fighting up ahead, swords clanging upon the chilled night air, echoing frightfully with the screams of the dying and the snarls of the beasts masquerading in their human puppets. His breath came in shallow bursts and the air was cool enough that each exhalation misted out of his mouth like smoke.

"Stay close," he warned softly, pausing to look back at his companions.

The witch was as pale as the grave and she shivered slightly, but whether from cold or terror Bedwyr couldn't be certain. Either way there was little comfort he could provide her and he wasn't entirely sure he wanted to. This was her doing, after all. Sure, she had done the right thing in the end and was hoping to help undo her mess, but Bedwyr knew that good intentions mattered very little to the dead.

Merlin was also pale and his eyes had a haunted gleam that Bedwyr didn't like at all. His jaw was clenched and Bedwyr could read the rage in the tension of his shoulders and the sorrow in the curve of his lips. The warlock caught him looking and tried to smile weakly, but it came out as a pained grimace and the young man ended up only shaking his head and looking away.

"I wish I could have done something for them," he whispered, so softly that Bedwyr couldn't be sure if he had heard him correctly.

"You are," the young farmer said quietly. "You are making their deaths count for something, Merlin. Dying isn't as terrifying if you have something to die for. My father told me that."

"Wise man," Merlin said softly, looking at him with tired eyes. "We should keep moving. We don't have much time."

Bedwyr nodded and followed the warlock quietly down the cobbled path, casting cautious glances into the shadowed alleys and darkened doorframes. At first, luck seemed to be on their side and they had nearly reached the epicenter of the fighting when Bedwyr heard a faint hiss before something connected solidly with his armor. He nearly fell flat on his face, but managed to keep his feet tucked firmly beneath him and he turned with a flash, meeting his blade against the dark metaled blade of his opponent.

A demon snarled at him and spat something black and foul at his face. It splattered onto his armor and seemed to sizzle there like hot grease. The demon's sword came sweeping down at him and he barely managed to get his own blade up in time to keep it from cleaving his body in two.

"Rhwygo," Merlin spat, eyes flashing gold.

The demon howled as it was torn from Bedwyr's side and hurled down the street, its arms and legs flailing uselessly behind it. It landed with a sickening thud and Bedwyr was sure that bones had broken, but the demon scrambled to its hands and knees and came scuttling back towards them, mouth opened in a silent scream.

Bedwyr's heart thudded painfully against his ribs and he was quite certain that his dreams would be haunted for many years to come by the sight of the unholy creature. He could see that bones had indeed broken, but the demon cared very little for such mortal wounds and seemed unconcerned with the fact that one of his legs was twisted in the wrong direction and both arms bent awkwardly every time they moved.

"How the hell do I kill it," Bedwyr hissed at Merlin, watching as the demon drew closer with every hollow crack of its bones.

"You don't," Merlin replied quietly. "Just incapacitate it for the moment."

"Right," Bedwyr growled. "No problem. I'll get right on that."

The demon reached them with a screech and it attempted to propel itself at Merlin, but the young warlock hissed out a word from between grit teeth and the demon slammed into some sort of wall sending sparks of magic showering down upon the street. It writhed in the air, clawing and wrenching at the wall, but it was stuck fast and nothing it attempted could free it.

"Now," the warlock said calmly. "Do it now, Bedwyr."

Bedwyr grunted as he swung his sword and he couldn't help but wince as he struck the demon just underneath its hips, severing both legs from its emaciated body. He swung the blade again with deadly efficiency and removed the arms so that nothing was left but a torso gnashing rotten teeth within a bitter parody of a jaw. Merlin looked a bit green around the gills and the warlock had to turn away lest he be sick all over his own shield.

The shield fell and the demon crumpled to the stones. Merlin cautiously stepped around it and beckoned with an impatient hand for the witch to do the same. She did so, but refused to look at the pathetic creature and kept her eyes planted firmly on the dragon filled sky above her.

"One down," Bedwyr muttered. "So many more to go."

Suddenly, Merlin's head shot up and he looked pointedly at something only he could see. Bedwyr was given the impression that his body remained in the darkened street with them, but his mind was somewhere far away. The young warlock looked panicked and his face had turned ashen.

"Arthur," the warlock breathed in a harsh gasp. "Oh no, Arthur—"

"What," Morgana inquired urgently. "Where is Arthur, Merlin? What are you—"

"I don't know," he croaked. "I can't feel him anymore, Morgana. It's like…it's like he's—I've got to—I've got to do something…I can't just… help him. I have to help him."

And with that Merlin took off down the cobbled path, his feet slapping loudly against the stone. Bedwyr shouted at him to stop, but the young man either didn't hear him or ignored him and continued his frantic flight to his sovereign's side.

"He's going to get himself killed," Morgana gasped out. "Bedwyr, we have to stop him."

"Surely he'll realize—"

"You don't know the two of them like I do," Morgana snapped. "They would do anything for each other. Merlin would kill himself if it meant saving Arthur and if he dies then so do the rest of us. He's the only one that can complete the spell."

"Damn," Bedwyr cursed and took off running after his new friend. "Merlin, stop! Wait!"

Suddenly, Bedwyr was right in the thick of the battle, and for the briefest of moments he felt completely out of his depth. He shook the feeling away and looked frantically over the heads of demons and soldiers alike in search of the dark haired man he had sworn to protect.

"Merlin," he screamed, dodging to and fro among the men. "Merlin, get your ass back he—"

He had to duck as a demon's sword came hurtling towards his face and he cursed loudly as the edge of the blade bit deep into the top of his scalp. He felt blood trickle down his forehead and blinked as it dripped into his eyes. The demon drew its sword back to jab at him and a sort of insanity overtook him. It was like watching the scene in slow motion and Bedwyr instantly knew what he had to do. He dove in between the creature's legs and thrust his sword up as he did so. It burst through flesh and bone like a heated knife through butter and Bedwyr jerked it forward, ripping through muscle and organs until his blade was free again.

The demon convulsed once and fell upon him, writhing like a mutilated worm, snapping at his face with jagged, broken teeth. He cried out and thrashed wildly, the need to be free of the creature becoming a desperate desire that brought him to the edge of insanity. Just when he thought he was going to go mad, the creature was suddenly lifted off of him and thrown a few feet away. The witch stared down at him impassively and held out a hand. He took it gratefully and stood up quickly, sword already up and ready to defend them.

"Thanks," he shouted. "They're heavier than they look."

"I thought you knew how to fight," Morgana said blandly, grabbing his shirt collar and pulling him out of the way of a sword fight between a grizzled soldier and his demon counterpart.

"I hold my own," Bedwyr said defensively. "I've never fought like this before. I don't know anything about this kind of warfare, but I am doing my best."

"I know," Morgana said kindly. "But you're best may not be good enough, Bedwyr. We need to find Merlin and get him to the top of the tavern now or all will be lost. Do you understand? Nothing is more important than that. Not me, not you, not anybody."

"Not even the king," Bedwyr asked with a suspicious gaze.

"Look," Morgana said, turning away to search for Merlin in the din. "Arthur is the type of king who would rather die and save his people then live and not save them. If we can help him, so be it, but our first priority is the spell. Merlin may not be able to see that right now. He's had a lot on his mind and as I said before when it comes to Arthur he's a complete idiot. You need to be prepared to drag him there kicking and screaming if that's what it takes."

"Right," Bedwyr muttered. "Drag a powerful warlock away from his best friend. No problem with that theory, whatsoever."

"There," Morgana yelled, pointing her finger to the northwest wall. "I see him."

She ran forward, weaving expertly in and out of the fighting horde and Bedwyr attempted to follow her to the best of his ability. He arrived, panting, moments after she did and was quite surprised to find Arthur, not only looking healthy, but rather furious.

"What the hell were you thinking," the king snarled at Merlin, using his sword to emphasize his anger. "You were supposed to be doing the spell. What are you doing down here anyways?"

"I was looking for you," Merlin snapped. "I thought that you were—"

"Well, I'm not," Arthur growled. "Just a bit winded is all. The armor protected me from the worst of it. And now you are down here when you need to be at the top of the castle!"

"Actually," Merlin said hesitantly. "I was never really going to be at the—"

"Merlin," Arthur said, very softly. "If you lied to me I swear I'm going to—"

The two were interrupted by a very squat looking demon who attempted to drop down on them from the rooftops above. Arthur pushed Merlin out of the way seconds before the creature impaled him with its sword and the king swept Excalibur around in a graceful counterstroke. The demon had just enough time to open his mouth in a sort of stunned amazement before its head went sailing up and over the warring soldiers. The rest of the body went up in a brilliant flash of green flame and Bedwyr had to shut his eyes against the light.

"We don't have time for this," Arthur said flatly, looking at Merlin with a mixture of concern and disgust. "Let's go, Merlin. They can handle things here. You aren't leaving my sight."

"They need you," Merlin said shaking his head slowly. "You can't abandon them."

"I'm not abandoning them," Arthur hissed. "I'm not a cowar—"

"I shouldn't have said it like that," Merlin interrupted tiredly. "Of course, you aren't a coward. I just meant that—"

"I'm not letting you go alone," Arthur continued. "You can forget it, Merlin. I'm coming with you. You were never meant to be this close to the fighting in the first place."

"Arthur," Merlin said quietly, staring at Bedwyr over the top of the king's head. His eyes were steady and full of hidden meaning. Bedwyr nodded and grit his teeth, tensing for what he knew he would have to do.

"What," Arthur replied.

"I'm sorry," Merlin whispered then rasped out a word, filling the street with a light as bright as the midday sun.

Bedwyr covered his eyes and when the light finally cleared the warlock and the witch were gone, dashing up the streets towards the tavern. Arthur realized what had happened mere seconds after Bedwyr had and the king cursed loudly and sprung after them only to stop in complete shock when Bedwyr moved into his path.

"Move," Arthur ordered flatly. "Now."

"No," Bedwyr answered firmly.

Arthur tried to step around him, but Bedwyr would have none of it. He stepped smoothly in his way with every movement he took.

"I swear," Arthur growled, eyes narrowed with fury. "If you don't move out of my way you won't live to regret it."

"Merlin told me to keep you out of it," Bedwyr answered quietly. "He said that—"

"I don't care what that idiot told you," Arthur shouted. "Get the hell out of my way!"

Bedwyr shook his head and planted his feet firmly against the ground. Arthur pointed his sword at him, but the farmer didn't truly believe that the king would hurt him…much. He swallowed and set his lips into a frown.

"Bedwyr," Arthur suddenly shouted, eyes widening. "Look out!"

"I'm not falling for that. How stupid do you think I—"

Something had punched him in the chest. His whole body jerked with the force of it and he stepped forwards slightly. For a moment he couldn't breathe and he wondered dimly what had hit him hard enough to knock the wind out of him. He looked down and was surprised to see his shirt covered in blood.

"What," he asked. "Is that my…I think I'm bleeding, Arthur."

The street suddenly tilted horribly and Bedwyr found himself crumpling to the ground, a puddle of red getting larger by the minute around his limp form. The colors of the street had begun to fade until everything was a dull black and white save for a few intense splashes of color. The green flash of Arthur's sword, the red of his blood, the flickering yellows and oranges of a nearby flame.

"Bedwyr," Arthur was calling to him, as if from a great distance. "Bedwyr, hold on! I'm going to get you some help!"

"I don't…why can't I feel anything," Bedwyr slurred. "I'm…so…tired."

"Stay awake," Arthur commanded. "Damn it boy, stay awake!"

But, Bedwyr couldn't stay awake. He closed his eyes and thought he felt someone picking him up and cradling him gently against their chest as they ran. He couldn't be sure though. Perhaps it was his imagination. After all, there were dragons flying around in his skull and witches speaking riddles in his ears.

There were demons to. Hundreds of them. One of them had a human heart in his hand and when he squeezed it…agony.


	19. It's My Party and I'll Cry if I Want To

**Author's Note: **_Ok, Ok, everyone! I know I have been neglecting you all and this story! I have been pretty busy with school and the usual. Plus, I have been working on two other stories besides this one. I normally try not to work on more than one story at once, but the ideas came to me and I didn't want to forget them so I wrote some of them for a little while. But, now I am back and will be devoting my time to at least two chapters of this. Note to all, I may be more inclined to write more on this story if I get lots of comments. _

Arthur had seen stars before, on more than occasion, if he were honest. According to Merlin he was in a constant state of danger even when he happened to be sitting still. The warlock and king had more than one debate on how such an occurrence could be possible, but Merlin had always managed to gain the upper hand in their arguments though Arthur still believed he only did so on technicalities and ridiculous theories.

Still, the moment he felt his chest armor crumple with the force of whatever magic the demon had thrown at him, he had to wonder somewhere in the recesses of his dazed and oxygen starved mind whether Merlin was right. He lay there, listening to the battle continue on around him, unable to convince his lungs to fill like they should. There was a voice by his ear, a young voice by the sound of it, and Arthur wondered why it sounded so scared. Not breathing, the voice said, I don't think he's breathing. Who isn't breathing, Arthur wondered. Surely, he doesn't mean me. Does he?

The more he thought about it, however, the more he realized that the person speaking had to be talking about his fallen king. His lungs still refused to budge from their stationary position inside his chest and the first threads of panic began to buzz incessantly at the back of Arthur's mind. Breathe, he ordered himself, breathe you useless man, breathe!

His lungs hitched slightly, not much, but enough that the awful burning that was spreading through his oxygen deprived muscles eased slightly. The resulting gush of air that whistled through his windpipe reminded him of the sound a fish might make if trying to breath on land. With every labored rise and fall of his chest the act of drawing air into his lungs became easier and easier until he was finally able to rasp out a few semi-reassuring words to the boy and the frantic Gwain who seemed to be shaking him relentlessly as if he could beat the life back into him.

"Fine," he gasped. "I'm fine."

"Oh," Gwain breathed out in relief. "Thank the gods, Arthur. Merlin would have turned me into something awful if I let you die."

"Of course he would," Arthur rasped out, turning over onto his side and closing his eyes in relief as the horrible pressure on his chest eased. "My armor, Gwain. It's bashed in and I can't breathe very well with it on. I need some help here."

"King Arthur asking me for help? Do mine ears deceive me?"

"Gwain, would you shut the hell up and do what you are told for once?"

"Sure, Princess, but just so you know I will remember this day fondly for the rest of my life. When things get hard I'll recall this moment and smile. When the world seems darkest I'll—"

"Gwaine! Now!"

"Sorry, sire, sorry."

Arthur grit his teeth as Gwain took hold of the clasps on his chest plate and pulled, having to jerk the warped metal repeatedly to get it to release its hold. It slipped from his shoulders with the rasp of metal against cloth and Arthur gasped in a giant breath, filling his lungs to the bursting before blowing it out in a single gust of air.

He took a moment to steady himself then stood, pulling the young boy and Gwain to the side and against the wall. For the moment they stood unnoticed in the fray, but Arthur was already itching to return to the sides of his men, as was any king's proper position in a battle.

"What happened," the young boy asked, looking from Gwain to the king in wonder.

"I'm not sure," Arthur answered honestly. "Maybe my armor protected me or something. I don't—"

"The Princess here has an angel looking out for him," Gwain grinned. "Luckiest son of a bitch I know."

"That's my mother you are talking about," Arthur said grumpily.

He took a step forward but was stopped by Gwain's hand on his shoulder.

"What are you doing," the knight snapped. "Did you see what just happened to you, Princess? I'm not sure how are you are alive let alone still standing."

"Yet, here I am," Arthur growled. "Now, let go of me, Sir Gwain. I have men to command."

"Sure thing," Gwain quipped, gripping his shoulder harder. "But, perhaps you should sit down for a second, Arthur. You don't look so good."

"I'm fine," Arthur snapped. "Now, do what I tell you and—good gods, what the hell is he doing here?"

Arthur couldn't quite believe what he was seeing. Merlin was tearing down the path towards him, a terrified expression on his face. At first, Arthur thought that something within their plan had gone horribly wrong, perhaps even worse than it already had, but he dismissed that thought almost right off. The expression on Merlin's face was one of loss and fear, but it wasn't one of the entirely hopeless.

Merlin saw him and a huge idiotic smile erupted across his face. He was nearly clobbered by a demon with a lethal looking axe, but managed to duck out of the way in time and continued on to his king.

Arthur felt fury surging through his veins like acid. What was the fool doing here when he had promised Arthur he would be safely within the castle walls? It had been hard enough for the king to leave his friend's side under the pretense that he would be away from the fighting, but now that Merlin was smack dab in the middle of it Arthur would never be able to concentrate.

Arthur glanced over at Gwain who was looking as confused as his king. The knight shrugged and turned back to the young boy Arthur didn't know the name of.

"Come on," Gwain said evenly to the lad. "When the princess and Merlin get into a tussle it's best to get out of the way. Stay close and I won't let anything happen to you."

With that the unlikely knight and his equally unlikely companion sped back into the fray, Gwain bellowing loudly and the boy trying desperately to match the older man's bass tones without success.

"Arthur," Merlin shouted, coming to a sudden stop beside him. "Arthur, are you hurt? I couldn't feel you breathing."

"What," Arthur snapped. "You couldn't feel me bre—never mind, I don't even want to know how you managed that. Please don't tell me you risked your life and the lives of my men just because you thought I was in danger."

"Well," Merlin began. "I—"

"What the hell were you thinking," Arthur continued on, glancing behind him as Bedwyr and Morgana arrived on the scene. "You were supposed to be doing the spell!"

"I was looking for you," Merlin snapped. "I thought that you were—"

"Well, I'm not," Arthur growled. "Just a bit winded is all. The armor protected me from the worst of it. And now you are down here when you need to be at the top of the castle!"

"Actually," Merlin said hesitantly. "I was never really going to be at the—"

Arthur's teeth clenched shut with a snap. Merlin wasn't possibly suggesting that he had lied to him again, was he? Arthur had felt like they had talked about his friend's knack for withholding major information until they were blue in the face and had hoped that Merlin would see fit to stop the behavior.

"Merlin," Arthur said, very softly. "If you lied to me I swear I'm going to—"

Arthur heard a noise above him, a shifting of loose gravel and a low hiss. His mind instantly tuned out whatever Merlin might have been saying and focused on the sound. With widening eyes Arthur realized what was going to happen seconds before it did so, but luckily seconds were all he needed to push Merlin and himself out of the way of the large demon that came barreling down at them from the top of the wall sounding like a dying cat the whole way.

Even as Arthur checked that Merlin was out of the way, he swept his sword up and parried the demon's own blade rather neatly. Dull satisfaction rushed through him as the demon left himself wide open for a second counterstroke. Arthur quickly took advantage of it and congratulated himself on a job well done as he watched the demon's head fly from its shoulders and Excalibur glowed brilliantly in the darkness.

"We don't have time for this," Arthur said flatly, turning to look at Merlin with a mixture of concern and disgust. "Let's go, Merlin. They can handle things here. You aren't leaving my sight."

"They need you," Merlin said shaking his head slowly. "You can't abandon them."

"I'm not abandoning them," Arthur hissed. "I'm not a cowar—"

"I shouldn't have said it like that," Merlin interrupted tiredly. "Of course, you aren't a coward. I just meant that—"

"I'm not letting you go alone," Arthur continued. "You can forget it, Merlin. I'm coming with you. You were never meant to be this close to the fighting in the first place."

Arthur wasn't sure he liked the look that swept across his friend's face at that moment. It was something devious and perhaps a little too calculating for his tastes. Merlin lifted his gaze slightly to meet the eyes of someone over Arthur's head. His eyes were grim and his lips were pursed in fierce determination.

"Arthur," Merlin said quietly.

"What?"

"I'm sorry," Merlin said meeting his gaze again.

The warlock rasped out a word and Arthur saw a flash of golden eyes before he was suddenly blinded by a light so bright he was sure it was divine in nature. He winced and threw up a hand to shield his eyes and when the light cleared his friend and Morgana were gone, dim shadows dashing up the street the to the taverns.

Arthur cursed loudly and tried to follow, but was stopped when Bedwyr stepped firmly in his path. Arthur was surprised for perhaps half a second and then he realized that the young farmer and his scheming rat of a Right Hand had planned this from the beginning.

"Move," Arthur snarled flatly. "Now."

"No," Bedwyr replied firmly.

Arthur rolled his eyes and tried to step around the young man, but Bedwyr moved smoothly in front of him again. Arthur's eyebrows rose in disbelief. He was a peasant, for God's sake, and Arthur was the king. It was near unheard of for a king to he disobeyed so thoroughly. Trust Merlin to make the most insolent of friend's.

"I swear," Arthur spat, narrowing his eyes in fury. "If you don't move out of my way you won't live to regret it."

Arthur truly doubted he would follow through on that particular threat, but one never knew. He was so angry at the moment that he might just decide to teach both Merlin and his newfound treacherous friend a valuable life lesson on obeying one's betters.

Arthur blinked as the thought went through him and he frowned. He hadn't had an idea like that since—well, since Merlin had come barreling into his life with his notions of equality and kindness to all. He wasn't entirely sure he liked the direction his mind was taking him and he made himself calm down until his rage became a dull simmer instead of a hard boil.

"Merlin told me to keep you out of it," Bedwyr was saying quietly. "He told to—"

"I don't care what that idiot told you," Arthur shouted, his fury boiling back up again. "Get the hell out of my way!"

Bedwyr merely shook his head and planted his feet firm against the stone. Arthur saw himself point his sword at the lad and he was disgusted with himself in a way he had not felt for many months. Not since Merlin had first flinched away from him back in the healing huts of Ewyr Cadw.

There was a harsh movement from behind Bedwyr and Arthur's attention immediately honed in on it. His mouth dropped open as he saw a demon scuttling up behind the lad on all fours, broken jaw dripping blood and his sword rasping along against the stones, sparks cascading from the blade.

"Bedwyr," Arthur warned loudly. "Look out!"

"I'm not falling for that," Bedwyr snorted. "How stupid do you think I—"

Arthur watched in horror as the demon swept it's blade up with a snarl and the killing metal punched through the flimsy chest plate Bedwyr was wearing. The lad was propelled forward with the force of the blow. He stared up at Arthur with a shocked expression on his face as if he didn't realize he'd been hit. Then he looked down at the widening blossom of red on his shirt.

"What," he slurred. "Is that my—I think I'm bleeding, Arthur."

Bedwyr slumped to the ground and Arthur's shocked brain spurred him into action. The demon that had stabbed the lad was raising his sword for another blow and Arthur swung his sword desperately to keep its blade from connecting with Bedwyr's motionless body. Somehow Arthur's sword hit a spot just above the demon's chest and the creature's ribcage disintegrated with a flash of green and a spray of gore.

As soon as the threat was vanquished Arthur fell to his knee's beside the young man, relieved to see that he was still conscious though, if the ever widening pool of blood was any indication, he wouldn't be for long.

"Bedwyr," he called. "Bedwyr, hold on! I am going to get you some help."

"I don't—why can't I feel anything," the lad slurred. "I'm…so…tired."

The young man's eyes were fluttering and Arthur felt panic rise in his chest. It was one thing for one of his knight's to die in battle. They were trained men who knew what they were getting into and what they might be sacrificing. They were Arthur's responsibility, true enough, and when one died it felt like a giant hole had been punched into Arthur's chest, but he drew comfort from the fact that they had died knowing, accepting, and honoring the reasons behind their sacrifice.

Bedwyr was not a knight, and though his actions had been honorable and true, he had not understood just what he was getting into. He was only a boy and an untrained one at that. He was Arthur's responsibility to keep safe and out of harm's way, but Arthur had treated him like one of his own soldiers. He should have denied he boy's request to assist him from the very beginning, but his own blind desperation and desperate need to keep Merlin safe had hindered his judgment and now the boy was paying the price.

"Stay awake," Arthur commanded the boy. "Damn it boy, stay awake!"

But, Bedwyr didn't stay awake. His eyes fluttered closed and his breath came in harsh, rattling gasps. Arthur swore loudly and looked around him for some kind of assistance. His heart froze and he felt a wordless cry of pain trying to rip its way out of his throat.

He was losing. He knew this instinctively, like a dog knows when a disaster is imminent. More of his men were lying, broken and bleeding, on the stones than were standing. The demons refused to back down, perhaps because they had nothing to lose or perhaps because they had everything to lose. Either circumstance could bring out a man's ferocity in battle like nothing else.

Arthur shut his eyes and shook the rising panic from his mind. It wouldn't help him or his men, wouldn't help Merlin or Bedwyr, wouldn't help Camelot or the surrounding lands. He was a king, damn it, he was the king of Camelot. A king destined to rule the lands of Albion with the most powerful warlock known to man by his side. He was a king with dragons as allies, Fair Folk as friends, and subjects that were loyal to a fault. If anyone could defeat the hellish horde threatening their way of life it would be him and his ragtag crew.

He looked up at the smoke filled sky and watched as the dragons flew around them, drawing strength from the powerful beat of their wings. He could made out the smaller white one, Aithusa Merlin called her, and watched as she snatched a demon from the wall, lethal jaws biting down as it writhed and squirmed in her mouth like a worm.

Kilgarrah chuckled with a sort of vicious glee and Arthur smiled fiercely. With new resolve pounding through his veins, he picked Bedwyr up carefully and held him to his chest. The boy was surprisingly light, even with armor, and Arthur immediately resolved to fatten the young man up if he lived through his ordeal. Fatten him up and make him a knight. Nobody stood up to Arthur like that and didn't get something out of it. Whether that was a few nights in the stocks or a knighthood seemed up for debate.

He crashed into the doors of the little temple they were using as a makeshift hospital, aware of the various busts and figurines of the old gods staring down at him from their spots high above him. His eyes immediately focused on Awen who was looking harried and exhausted as she fervently worked on a young soldier who'd been torn open from hipbone to shoulder by a demon's claws. She was muttering something beneath her breath and Arthur watched in fascination as the young man's wounds closed, slowly at first, and his breathing evened.

When her eyes opened they flickered to meet his own and she smiled softly, then frowned as her eyes took in the motionless body of Bedwyr in his arms. She rose shakily from the soldier's side and weaved her way in and out of the throng until she had reached his side.

"This was the boy protecting Merlin," she said quietly.

"Yes," Arthur replied. "He's dying, Awen."

"I know," Awen whispered. "I can feel his life slipping away, Arthur. He needs healing fast."

"Tell me where to put him," Arthur grunted.

"Here," Awen answered, gesturing to a small cot in the corner. "Carefully, Arthur."

"I know," Arthur said, laying the young man down with a groan of effort. "Things look bad, Awen."

She knelt beside Bedwyr and looked up at Arthur, eyes full of sorrow. She put her hands against the farmer's wounds, closing her eyes, and taking a deep breath. It was in this moment that Arthur noticed the lines of fatigue marring her pretty face and the rather grey cast to her skin. Awen was on the verge of exhaustion.

She mumbled words beneath her breath and Bedwyr jerked slightly on his cot, brow furrowing in pain before evening out and going slack. His breathing eased and color was already rising back into his cheeks.

"He'll be alright," Awen panted, opening her violet eyes to stare wearily up at Arthur. "There will be some bruising and he'll be fairly sore for a few days, but he'll live."

"You look beat," Arthur said quietly. "Awen, are YOU going to be alright?"

"I don't have a choice, do I? These men…Arthur, they're torn to bits when they come in here. I wasn't able to get to them all in time. I tried, but…I'm so sorry."

Arthur knelt beside her and took her hands in his own, choosing to ignore the fact that they were covered in blood.

"Listen," he said to her. "Awen, war is never easy. It's bloody and harsh and you learn that you are capable of things you would have never thought possible. It brings out the best and the worst in people, Awen. I have experienced this first hand. And now, so have you. But, do you know what?"

"What?"

"I couldn't be prouder of the work you've done," Arthur whispered. "This can't have been easy for you, Awen. And I can see that you are exhausted, but still you refuse to give up. You refuse to give in to your doubts, your fear, and your fatigue. That is the marking of a true warrior, you know; a warrior that any king would be proud to call their own. I couldn't imagine what a nightmare this might have been without you here. You have nothing to be sorry about. You tried your best and the men that you have saved owe you their lives. And I owe you so much more than that."

Awen was quiet for a long moment. She closed her eyes briefly, trying to burrow whatever emotions she was feeling, and squeezed his hand lightly. When she opened them again her gaze shone with new resolve and she smiled.

"Thank you," she said quietly.

"Have you seen Gwen," Arthur asked her, allowing her to keep her dignity in tact.

"She's been amazing," Awen smiled. "I might have gone crazy if it hadn't been for her. She and Gaius went to get supplies from the rectory. You shouldn't be here when she gets back, Arthur. She's been worried sick about you and if she sees you—"

"She'll do something incredibly stupid," Arthur finished with a frown. "I know."

He stood to leave, but was stopped by her hand on his shoulder. He turned and knew what she was going to ask before the words crossed her lips. He just didn't know how he was going to answer.

"Merlin," she said quietly. "If Bedwyr is here it must mean you've seen him. How is he, Arthur?"

"You don't know," Arthur asked, trying to delay his response as long as possible.

"We decided it would be best to cut off our connection," Awen answered, grimacing. "I haven't heard a word from him since the start of the battle."

"Awen," Arthur said. "I don't know how to tell you this, but he—"

"He's not really in the castle, is he?"

"How did you—"

"It felt like he was hiding something from me," Awen sighed. "I had hoped it wouldn't be something like this, but I knew better."

"Why would he lie," Arthur asked. "I just don't understand it, Awen. Doesn't he trust me?"

"It has nothing to do with that," Awen said, glancing at him in surprise. "Is that really what you think? That he doesn't trust you?"

"What else am I supposed to think," Arthur sighed. "He keeps things from me, Awen. Important things."

"He thinks he's protecting us," Awen replied. "That's all this is, Arthur. He trusts you completely, but he knows something that you don't."

"Which is," Arthur demanded.

"You trust him," Awen said gently. "You trust him as a person, but you don't trust in his abilities, Arthur."

"What," Arthur blanched. "That's ridiculous."

"Is it?" Awen continued. "Think about it, Arthur. You protect him as if he's a child, as if he is still the clumsy manservant you knew before, but he isn't. He's been dealing with threats like this long before you knew what he was capable of, but still you coddle him."

"No," Arthur snapped, shaking his head. "Awen, if that were true why would I trust my entire kingdom and the lives of my men with this little scheme? We are all depending on Merlin's power."

"Yes," Awen said with a small smile. "But, let me ask you a question, Arthur. And answer honestly."

"Alright."

"If you had another choice, one that didn't require magic, but was far more dangerous would you choose to trust Merlin or would you go the other route?"

"I—I would…," Arthur began, frowning. "I would go with…I don't…damn, I would go with the non magic plan."

"Why?"

"Because…because Merlin wouldn't be in as much danger that way, Awen. He would be safer, right? I mean, he…he's not a soldier. He's not trained to fight and I—"

"He's not trained to fight like you," Awen corrected. "The art that Merlin is trained in is far more powerful than a sword, Arthur. You don't realize because you haven't seen, not really. You haven't seen what he is capable of."

"That's not true," Arthur argued. "Merlin has been showing me all sorts of magic. And there was that time, when he was sick, and he lost control. He destroyed a great deal of forest and I—"

"You haven't seen," Awen urged. "You have never seen him go up against a foe, Arthur. You've seen little tricks, things he does to amuse and amaze you, but you have never been awed by his gifts, my king. He knows this and so I know this. He knew from the beginning that he would have to prove himself to you and that you wouldn't fully believe him capable until he had done so."

"What does this have to do with him lying to me," Arthur growled, not wanting to admit the truth of her words but recognizing them all the same.

"You want to protect him," Awen whispered. "An endeavor I agree with completely, but you take it one step farther then I ever would. If he had told you of his plan you would have ignored your duty and gone with him, thinking that you were saving him, but the exact opposite is true. When you are with him he thinks of no one but you, Arthur. Your safety is first and foremost in his mind and this could get him killed. He recognizes what you won't and so he lied to you. To keep you safe, to keep himself safe, and to guarantee the best chances of success. Don't be angry at him for that, Arthur. Please."

Arthur wasn't quite sure how to respond to that so he opted to remain silent. He wanted so much to be angry. Merlin had lied to him once again, but could he really fault him for it? The recent events with Bedwyr had proved that Arthur was willing to do anything if it meant keeping his best friend safe and he wondered what that said about their relationship. Was he too dependent on Merlin? Had he relied on Merlin to keep him grounded for too long to be able to consider handling a situation without the man by his side?

Arthur shook his head. What was it about desperate situations that seemed to bring up all of the other surface issues that he had wanted to ignore? He had always viewed their friendship as something concrete and real, something that couldn't fail even if it wanted to. But, as horrible as the truth was, it could fail. It could fail very easily if the right circumstances presented themselves. He had been so focused on worrying about his friend and trying to keep him safe that he had forgotten what a friend's duties actually were.

It wasn't Arthur's job to coddle and badger. It was his job to be there for Merlin when he needed him, to comfort him when he asked, and to trust his judgment when he saw fit to give it. The king had made his friend his Right Hand, but was it because it gave him an excuse to keep him by his side? Or was it because he actually believed that Merlin would be strong enough for the job? Arthur had a sinking feeling it was more to do with the first then the latter and he felt his cheeks color with shame.

"You're right," he told Awen after a moment. "I've been coddling him and I shouldn't have. I just—I don't want him to get hurt, Awen. He…I care…he just…he means too much to me. And I want—"

"You want to protect him," Awen repeated. "As I said before, Arthur, an endeavor I agree with completely. But, you can't protect what doesn't need protecting, don't you see? He may be clumsy, he may be too compassionate for his own good, he may even be a bit of an idiot at times, but one thing he is not is weak. I would have thought his time with the Darkness would have taught you that."

Arthur opened his mouth to reply, but was saved from having to answer by a shout for help from far across the room. Awen jerked her head around and her eyes widened as the sight of a young man, no older than twenty, thrashing about in the arms of the soldier carrying him. His throat had been torn open and blood gushed down into the man's tunic, staining the blue fabric a deep purple.

Awen met Arthur's eyes for a moment then rushed over to the dying man's side, shouting orders at the soldier carrying him. The king watched for a moment then turned and made his way back towards the doors, stepping over the limp bodies of those either sleeping or dead. He glanced back once before going back out into the chill air, pulling his sword from his belt and heading back to his men in the chaos of battle.

He was perhaps halfway down the street when something made him stop. He wasn't sure what it was exactly, but it felt both strange and familiar to him. The hair on his arms stood on end and when he looked down at them in confusion he was nearly blasted off his feet by a wall of power so fierce that Arthur's stomach felt like it was trying to claw its way up his throat.

He felt like a tiny ant in its wake and as he watched it make its way down into the Lower Town with wide eyes Arthur was struck by its purity. It was like a living, breathing thing, full of life and presence. The king knew immediately what he was looking at and his breath hitched in his throat.

It was Merlin and Arthur suddenly knew why it had felt familiar to him. This magic was the very embodiment of his friend. It held his humility and his compassion, his amusement and the sound of his laughter. It was everything good and true about Merlin and Arthur knew then, without a shadow of a doubt, that he had been wrong about the nature of magic. Any doubts he might have held, any concerns or questions, flew from his mind the second he felt Merlin's power touch his mind like the caresses of an old friend.

Good gods, he thought. Merlin had started the spell and Arthur searched for his friend among the rooftops. It didn't take him long to find him and when his eyes focused on what was occurring on the tavern roof Arthur felt like he'd been punched in the gut.

Merlin was on his knees, rigid with tension, and his head was turned slightly to the side. Arthur could hear him shouting something, chanting with almost rhythmic precision. He was bathed in the golden flames of Kilgarrah's magic, the powerful dragon's jaws opened wide as he spit his fire out at the warlock. It looked like Merlin was absorbing whatever power the dragon was showering him with and was pushing that energy into the wall.

Arthur grinned fiercely at his friend's display of power and for the briefest of moments believed that Merlin might actually make it out without a scratch. Perhaps they would win this fight. Perhaps he had nothing to fear.

Of course, Merlin chose that exact moment to start screaming.


	20. Victory Does Not Make Us Conquerors

**Author's Note: **_We are coming close to the end, my lovely readers. I hope you all enjoy this chapter. I had a hard time writing it after the last episode of _Merlin_. Morgana was rather…ummm…well, I didn't like her. Anyways, please, please, please READ AND REVIEW! It means the world to me and now that it is almost done I would like to see what you think! _

When Morgana first met Merlin, all those years ago, she had almost instantly dismissed him from her mind. She had not meant to be cruel or insinuate that the young lad was in any way forgettable, but she knew the inner workings of Arthur's mind almost as well as her own and believed that Merlin would not last longer than a day or two under Arthur's totalitarian regime. Up until Merlin had arrived, the young prince of Camelot had very little patience with anyone he considered to be weak or beneath him, oftentimes sending servants scurrying as far from him as they could after only the first day. Arthur had considered his attitude a burden of nobility, but Morgana called it for what it truly was: arrogance, plain and simple.

Merlin had spoken very little his first few weeks of being Arthur's servant and if it hadn't been for the intelligence reflected in his eyes Morgana would have bundled him up with all the other sycophantic worshipers that seemed to follow the prince around like a gaggle of geese. He never laughed when Arthur was being needlessly petty or cruel, never smiled encouragingly when Arthur pummeled men he knew could never beat him, and his strange albeit welcome behavior seemed to bring the young prince up short on more than one occasion. Arthur would glance back at him, obviously hoping for some sign that what he was doing was found amusing by all, but his smile would falter the tiniest bit at the servant's disapproval and any laughter would choke off into uncomfortable coughs of amusement.

Of course, Morgana still might not have given Merlin the recognition he deserved had it not been for a fateful day perhaps two months into the two men's unlikely partnership. Dinner had been served in the dining hall as was custom those days, but Uther had been unable to join them due to some crisis or another in the Lower Towns. The table had been quiet other than the occasional screech of a spoon against a metal plate or a slight clearing of the throat.

Arthur and Morgana had never been particularly comfortable with one another, even when they had gotten along and if they could not insult each other silence reigned supreme. It wasn't that they hadn't loved each other. Even now, after all the hits their already tenuous relationship had taken she felt the smallest surge of affection now and again, but there had been so much expected of them from the very beginning that Morgana and Arthur had never really had the chance to be anything other than what the public wanted to see from them. Guinevere had often attempted to ease such awkward moments and Morgana had always been more than ready for the distraction, but Merlin held no such interest for Arthur. Occasionally, the young prince would make some joke at the servant's expense and Merlin had either smiled graciously, relentless in his constant state of humility, or, if Arthur took it too far, he had pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes in distaste.

At the time, it seemed as if they had some unspoken agreement. If Merlin smiled then Arthur took that as the servant's permission to continue that particular line of teasing. When Merlin frowned Arthur would smile, almost like an apology, and normally not say another word to him about it. The other castle staff did not share the same immunity as the strange serving boy that had saved Arthur's life, however, and on that day the prince was in a fine mood, scowling down at this plate of stew and stirring it around absently with his spoon.

Unfortunately Cale, the new serving boy, chose that exact moment to come into the dining hall, carrying a flagon of wine from the cellars in his hands. He was a young lad, much younger than any Morgana had ever seen working in the castle, and was not entirely sure on his feet. He was also in awe of the prince whom he had never seen before in his life and it was clear, as he served them with his eyes fixated intensely on Arthur's face, that he hero-worshiped the man. Morgana knew instantly that dinner would be a disaster.

Sure enough, as Cale stood on his tiptoes to serve Arthur his wine, the prince disinclined to lift his mug so the boy could easily reach him, his hands slipped and the flagon fell from his fingers and onto Arthur's lap. Wine instantly soaked into his tunic and the prince flung himself backward from the table, sending his bowl flying and crashing into Merlin, who fell, rather painfully, to the floor only to have Arthur's boot crunch down on his fingers as the prince steadied himself. Merlin yelped and snatched his hand back, two of the fingers already swelling well past what they should be, but Arthur paid no mind to his injured servant. His eyes were locked on the little kitchen boy, who stood, open mouthed and horrified, by the turned over chair.

"You idiot," Arthur had snarled, kicking the now emptied flagon at him in fury. "You've ruined this shirt and knocked my dinner all over the floor! Why on earth did we hire a moron like you? You can't even do something as simple as serving wine correctly!"

"Arthur," Merlin said quietly, holding his injured hand to his chest as he picked himself up from the stones. "Arthur, it's alright. I can wash the shirt and we can get you more stew. It was an—"

"Shut up," Arthur snapped at Merlin before turning back to berate the terrified Cale. "I ought to throw you in the stocks for this! A prince should be able to sit down and enjoy his dinner without having imbeciles like you—"

"Arthur," Merlin said loudly. "Stop being an ass and pick on somebody your own size."

Morgana remembered her mouth dropping open at the servant's words and she had to convince herself that Merlin had actually said them. Nobody had ever dared speak to Arthur that way, at least, no one that hadn't paid dearly for it and usually with weeks in the castle dungeons. Cale also seemed to be at a loss for words staring back and forth from Arthur to Merlin in disbelief.

Arthur grew deathly still and Morgana prepared herself to step in between the two men if the prince decided to teach his servant a physical lesson. He had never gone that far before, but, then again, none of his previous servants had spoken to him in such a manner. He turned on Merlin who stood, unconcerned, some distance away. The young man didn't so much as flinch when Arthur advanced on him.

"What did you just say to me," Arthur asked quietly.

"Nothing I haven't said before," Merlin snorted.

Arthur went to open his mouth, but Merlin beat him to it.

"Sorry," he said lightly. "I meant nothing I haven't said before…sire."

Arthur shut his mouth with a snap and studied his servant for a long moment, eyes narrowed. He raised his hand and Morgana was suddenly sure he was going to hit him, but was surprised when Arthur put a hand on Merlin's shoulder and pushed him gently, almost affectionately.

"You idiot," Arthur huffed, but there was no malice in his voice. "Are you alright? I didn't step on you, did I?"

"My fingers," Merlin said, shrugging them away when Arthur tried to look at them. "They'll hold. You have something else to take care of first."

"What," Arthur had asked, surprised. "What do I have—oh."

He turned to regard the little serving boy with raised eyebrows and frowned when the boy shrunk back from his gaze. He rolled his eyes and glanced back at Merlin who stared at him passively.

"Fine," he growled gruffly. "Cale, I—it is Cale, isn't it?" The child nodded timidly. "Right, Cale, I shouldn't have called you a moron, but you should have—"

Merlin coughed softly and Arthur stopped talking. Arthur rolled his eyes again, but continued on with his apology to the young boy, finally dismissing him to clean up the mess and finding another chair to sit in.

Morgana had never seen anything like the exchange before and she suddenly saw Arthur's servant in a whole new light. Not only was the young man not afraid to show his distaste for some of Arthur's more arrogant antics, but he was not in the least bit fearful to voice them either. Perhaps even more startling was Arthur's obedience in the matter.

"Merlin," Arthur growled. "Don't do that again."

"What," Merlin asked absently, glancing down at fingers that had obviously been broken.

"Order me around like that," Arthur snapped, turning to look back at him. "I'm the prince and your—Merlin, you idiot, your fingers are broken! Why didn't you tell me?"

"It wasn't horribly important at the time," Merlin said with a shrug.

"Merlin," Arthur sighed, shaking his head. "Sometimes I don't know whether you're a stupid man who sometimes gets lucky or a lucky man who sometimes acts like an idiot."

"A little bit of both," Merlin answered, grinning.

"Have Gaius see to those fingers," Arthur ordered, his lips twitching slightly. "Now, before I change my mind and make you polish my armor with broken fingers for daring to order me around like that."

"Gwen," Morgana said softly. "Go with him, would you? Pick up my sleeping draft from Gaius while you there, please."

"Yes, my lady," Gwen said, curtseying and following Merlin from the room.

Morgana and Arthur had been left in silence, the prince choosing to look anywhere at her and Morgana looking at nothing but him. He finally sighed and met her eyes, expression a mix of annoyance and embarrassment.

"You always make for such entertaining suppers," Morgana said lightly and Arthur winced slightly.

"It's…been a rough day," Arthur sighed. "I shouldn't have taken it out on the serving boy."

"Well," Morgana said, raising her eyebrows. "That's a first."

"What?"

"Arthur Pendragon admitting he was in the wrong."

Arthur glared at her, but said nothing. She smirked and took a dainty sip of her wine.

"You care for him," she said a moment later. "Merlin, I mean."

"I don't mind him," Arthur corrected. "There is a difference, Morgana."

"No," Morgana said, shaking her head. "You care for him even if you won't admit it. I can see it."

And she had seen it. After that night, she had kept a closer eye on the young man Arthur called servant and had watched Merlin transform the prince into the man that had lain buried somewhere deep inside him. Their friendship had bloomed into something far deeper than anyone within the castle understood and Morgana had instinctively known that Merlin would become the most important person in Arthur's life.

Of course, that had been before she had allowed herself to be filled with rage and hate. Before she had turned on them with the ferocity of a rabid dog and committed numerous monstrous deeds all in the name of their deaths. She had forgotten how they had made her laugh and smile, forgotten how deeply they cared about the people of Camelot, forgotten how kind and gentle Arthur could be when he wished to. But, most importantly, she had forgotten just how far Merlin would go to keep his friend safe and his people from harm.

She was reminded of that now, as they sped up the cobblestones to the taverns, keeping a watchful eye out for anything that might attempt to stop them. Merlin's expression was calm and determined, but his eyes shone with a ferocity that Morgana had never seen before. And his power…gods, when she had first felt him lower his barriers his magic had all but slapped her in the face. It crackled against her skin like lightning and sent the air humming with energy.

"Merlin," she gasped as they ran, feeling like her heart was going to rip from her chest and bring her lungs along for the ride. "Merlin, stop! I need to rest for a second. You are going too fast."

"No time," Merlin panted, reaching behind him to grab her hand. "Something is coming, Morgana. Something bad."

"Something is coming," Morgana repeated dumbly. "What do you mean?"

"I don't know," Merlin told her as they reached the tavern door. "Something powerful, Morgana. Something that wants me dead."

Morgana instantly flashed to the demon she had tried reasoning with so many days before and her heart clenched. Azarath's power had been a writhing, crushing thing and Morgana wondered if Merlin would be strong enough to survive an encounter with him. She was sure that Azarath had felt Merlin's magic and was probably using it to track them down before they had a chance to complete the spell.

"Right," Morgana panted, squeezing Merlin's hand. "We should get moving then. How are we getting up there?"

"Hold on to me," Merlin ordered, pulling her close. "Whatever you do, don't let go, Morgana."

She wrapped her arms around him and clutched the chain mail Arthur had forced him to wear tightly in her fists, drawing comfort from the hard, cool strength of the woven metal.

Merlin spat out a word and Morgana shrieked out in surprise as she felt the ground disappear from beneath her feet. Her stomach tried to force its way up her throat and she swallowed, holding Merlin tighter as her vision swam. Opening portals through space and time had always been like this, but she still hadn't grown used to the feeling. If the color of Merlin's face was any indication he hadn't either.

They landed upon the tavern's wooden rooftop with matching grunts of discomfort and before Morgana really had a chance to catch her bearings Merlin had released her. She swayed slightly, but managed to get her dizziness under control and stayed on her feet.

Merlin took a leather pouch from the inside of his chain mail and set it down gently on the slightly sloped roof. He knelt beside it and began to methodically pull out its contents, setting them down beside him.

"What is all that," Morgana asked quietly.

"Things I'll need for the spell," Merlin replied. "You'll have to help me with some of it."

"Alright," Morgana said, kneeling beside him. "What do I need to do?"

"It's complicated," Merlin breathed, glancing at her. "I don't think I've ever seen one this complicated."

"I thought Kilgarrah was going to breathe fire on you," Morgana said. "Why do you have all this stuff?"

"Because in order for the spell to work I have to be grounded," Merlin explained. "Magic is a funny thing, Morgana. You of all people should understand that. It doesn't obey the laws of the mortal world like you and I have to. If my magic isn't grounded there is a good chance it won't work."

"And what are we using to ground it," Morgana asked, watching in alarm as Merlin pulled a small dagger from his side and slid it across his palm.

"Blood for one," Merlin said, smearing the blood from his small cut all over the blade of the dagger. "Hold this, will you?"

He handed the bloodied dagger to her and stripped the chain mail from his back, throwing it to the side with barely a thought. He took his neckerchief from around his throat and placed it on the ground beside his other ingredients. He took another knife from inside the pouch and sliced off a small chunk of hair, handing it to her with an apologetic smile.

"Sorry," he said quietly, as he rummaged in the pouch and drew out a fine tipped piece of hardened charcoal. "I know it's disgusting, but I can't have it blowing away in the wind."

"Merlin," Morgana whispered, watching as he took the charcoal and began to draw. "What are you doing?"

"A binding circle," Merlin said instantly. "Normally, it can be used to keep magic out, but I'm changing it up a little bit. Hopefully I am doing it right."

"Who taught you all this," Morgana asked as Merlin drew a large circle around himself and then a smaller one inside the first.

"Gaius mostly," Merlin replied absently, carefully inscribing runes between the first and second circle, his hand looping and curling gracefully with each stroke of the charcoal. "Some of it I learned from Kilgarrah. He's the one that taught me this. Most people had forgotten about binding spells like this one. The problem with outlawing magic is that the things that help protect against it are usually done away with to."

"Oh," Morgana whispered as Merlin finished with his circle. "What are all the ingredients for?"

"Most of it is something important to me," Merlin replied. "The circle is binding my magic in particular and drawing other magic in so the ingredients have to be a little more personal."

He reached for the small candle at his side and lit it with a soft word of power. Merlin watched it burn for a moment, the light of the flame spattering shadows across his face. After perhaps two minutes had passed he gently blew the candle out and dripped the wax out into a small puddle on one edge of the circle.

"Hair please," he said, holding out a hand. "Quickly, before the wax dries!"

Morgana handed him the small clump of black locks and he hurriedly dumped it unceremoniously into the puddle of wax. The wax dried around the small hair particles and held them in an iron grip that would ensure their safety from the wind. Merlin took his neckerchief from his side and folded it into an even square before setting it down on the east side of the circle. He took the dagger from her and placed it on the north side, point facing him. He took what looked to be a piece of his mother's tunic and placed it south. Lastly, he pulled a long chain from beneath his tunic and he studied the small ring that the chain looped through.

It was a well made piece and Morgana could instantly see the care and craftsmanship that went into the design. It was made from the strongest iron and polished until it shone like silver. A small dragon had been diligently etched into the metal, its tail curling elegantly around the ring and Morgana could see words scratched on the inside, but could not make out what they were.

"Arthur gave me this," Merlin said quietly. "For my birthday a few years back. He swears up and down that he had forgotten that it even was my birthday and that he'd just dug through his stuff until he'd found something suitable, but we both knew he was lying. I asked the blacksmith when Arthur wasn't around and he told me that he'd asked him to craft it almost two months before, just to make sure it looked right. I told Arthur I didn't want to lose it and put it on the chain. He looked rather pleased with himself when I put it around my neck."

Merlin took it from around his throat and placed it reverently beside the piece of Hunith's tunic. His fingers paused for a moment before he let the last bit of chain slip from his grasp.

"He told me later that the ring would keep me safe," Merlin said softly, smiling at the memory. "I was supposed to use it if I ever found myself in trouble in other lands. I was his emissary and the dragon was his crest, a sign of his protection. It hasn't done me much good, but the thought was there."

He shook his thoughts away and stared up into the smoke filled sky, watching as Aithusa and Kilgarrah swooped around them. His eyes glazed over for a moment and Morgana watched as the older dragon suddenly fell back and flew down towards them, wings beating the air in slow, powerful strokes.

"Merlin," the dragon greeted, eyeing the young man's circle with approval. "You have done well, old friend. Are you ready?"

"As ready as I'll ever be," Merlin sighed, shifting within his circle until he sat on his knees. "Kilgarrah, will this…will it hurt?"

"I do not know," the dragon replied, shaking his giant head. "I have never done such a thing before. I do not even know if it will work."

"Right," Merlin said softly. "I guess we'll find out one way or the other."

"Yes," Kilgarrah said. "I suppose we will. Does the witch understand her duties?"

"I do," Morgana whispered. "It's my job to direct the magic."

"Can you handle such power," the dragon asked, staring at her with reptilian intensity.

Morgana knew what the dragon was really asking her and she felt guilt sweep through her. Kilgarrah knew that she was more than capable of directing the magic, but what he did not know was whether or not she would actually do so. It was clear to the witch that the dragon cared a great deal for the safety of the warlock in the circle and he was suspicious she would betray him.

"Yes," Morgana said quietly. "You have nothing to worry about."

She had decided then. She could always change her mind later, but she knew she wouldn't. Merlin was safe from her for the time being and as she came to this conclusion her anger slipped from her shoulders like a heavy cape that had been weighing her down. She would not try to harm him again, or Arthur for that matter. Camelot would have nothing to fear from her ever again, even if it meant leaving the homeland she loved with all her heart.

"Good," Kilgarrah grunted, studying her for a moment longer. "Merlin, be brave and strong like the dragon you are."

Merlin nodded gratefully and the giant dragon flapped his wings and rose so that his flame would reach the young man below him with ease. Morgana watched as Merlin's fists clenched and he rose his face to the sky, opening his eyes just as Kilgarrah jetted a bright gold wall of flame towards him.

It punched into Merlin and Morgana watched in alarm as he jerked and went rigid, his spine curving backward as the magic slammed against him. His eyes were rolled up in his head and Morgana was sure that the power was killing him. Then, before she could so much as move, Merlin rasped out a harsh cry and pulled himself upright, throwing his head back and screaming a series of words out into the night.

The magic pulsed and flickered, forming itself into a wall of power so bright that Morgana had to shield her eyes.

"Morgana," Merlin gasped between grit teeth. "Now!"

Morgana almost forgot what she was supposed to do, but she took a deep breath and recalled the words, whispering them in her head over and over again. She dared not watch the wall of magic, but drew comfort from the shouts and cries of happiness from the soldiers below. It was working then. The spell was working.

Kilgarrah blew another giant gust of flame within Merlin's circle and Morgana heard him cry out, but the sound was not pained in the slightest. It was the noise of a man in rapture, eyes opened to wonders beyond his world and soul humming with the force of his spirit. Morgana thought he might have even laughed once, but was so concentrated on her own duty that she wasn't sure.

The wall slowly worked its way down the streets of Camelot and Morgana imagined the demons bursting into flame as it swept through them. She smiled and pushed the wall harder, willing it to go faster. Perhaps if she hadn't been so preoccupied with the wall she might have noticed the ripple of dark energy that vibrated through the air like a plucked string. As it was, she did not notice the danger lurking just below them until it was too late to do anything about it.

Azarath, the demon Morgana most feared, stood on the streets below, staring up at them with a cruel smile twisted across its broken features. She heard the creature rasp out a word and was shocked to see an orb of undulating shadows writhing in his hands. She knew instantly what the demon planned to do but was powerless to stop it.

Merlin's binding spell ensured that any magic thrown his way would be instantly drawn into the magic he was working. If Azarath wanted to stop their plan from working and kill Merlin in the process all he had to do was add his magic to the mix.

"No," Morgana screamed as the orb of shadows left Azarath's hands and flew at Merlin. "Merlin, look out!"

Merlin turned his head towards her, unaware of the power speeding towards him. It collided with the golden energy of Kilgarrah's magic with a hiss and Merlin's head snapped backwards as if he'd been struck. He screamed as the demon's power burrowed its way deeper into the circle and Morgana had to cover her ears. His cries of agony were amplified by the magic and she was sure that all of Camelot could hear his pain.

Azarath grinned through shattered teeth and watched as Merlin slumped over, eyes wide and unseeing. Morgana could hear his triumphant cackle and Kilgarrah's roar of fury as if through a long tunnel. The magic of the wall flickered and died, but not before it had reached the outer gates of Camelot. Even if Azarath succeeded in killing Merlin he had not stopped the warlock in time and his army had been destroyed. Morgana drew strength from their victory and she screamed out her fury at the demon.

From the corner of her eye she saw Merlin shift slightly in his circle, his eyes fluttering as he tried to move himself out of the circle. Every movement seemed painful and his flesh had turned a sickly gray as if the demon's magic had worked is way beneath his skin. He collapsed, one hand falling just against the circles edge, and moved no more.

The demon below grinned and, though he knew he'd lost, took great pleasure in the sight of Morgana's rage.

"You lost," Morgana screamed. "He beat you!"

"Perhaps," Azarath rasped. "But, soon he will be dead and with Emrys gone Camelot will fall…as I have promised. How this occurs matters very little to me. I have carried out your wishes."

"No," Morgana cried, not sure when she had begun to cry. "I never wanted it like this! Take it back! Please!"

"You wish me to spare him," the demon asked softly. "Is that what you wish? For him to live?"

"Yes," Morgana gasped. "I want him to live!"

"Then your wish shall be granted," Azarath snarled. " Even now the power sucks his life from him, but I shall allow him to live, but in his nightmares. Never waking, never to see the light of day again. Your will is my order, my lady."

"That's not what I said," Morgana cried, knowing even as she spoke the words they would do little good.

Azarath laughed once and formed another ball of power in his hands. Morgana wasn't sure when she started running or even when she had decided to save Merlin from his fate, even if it meant her own life to do so. She remembered the power hurdling towards the helpless warlock, remembered thinking she wasn't going to arrive in time, and remembered the feel of it as the power slammed into her chest.

She opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came out. Her world was icy cold and darkness plunged into her like a knife. She never saw Arthur creep up behind the gloating demon, sweeping its head from its shoulders with a graceful swipe of his sword. She didn't see Merlin use the last of his strength to pull himself towards her so that he could grasp her hand in his, didn't see him struggling for breath or the way his eyes fluttered closed when he couldn't find it.

Morgana saw nothing but darkness. She could hear the screams and shrieks of creatures less than human in her ears and she could feel their slimy flesh sliding against her own. Azarath had taken her mind to a place her body could never follow. A place where all she had were her nightmares and the only sounds were those of her screams.


	21. To Die Would Be An Awfully Big Adventure

**Author's Note: **_Ok, guys. I really, really need your opinions on this chapter. Part of me really likes it and then part of me worries that it is a little cheesy. Please tell me what you guys think! Also, there will be about four chapters in this story left, but as I have said before there will be a third story that will start up right where this one leaves off. Morgana will NOT be fixed in this story, but their journey to save her will be the plot of the next story. Hope you enjoy and remember…your thoughts are needed!_

When Awen had first healed Merlin and brought him back from the edge of darkness she had believed that all healings would be the same. She had gone from little faith in her gifts as Blessed to an overwhelming belief that she could heal any injury, cure any sickness, and ease any tortured soul. She had never seen the brutalities of war before. After all, she had spent all but the last six months of her life in the relatively safe confines of Ewyr Cadw and though she had experienced her fair share of death she had never witnessed the horrifying anguish of violence.

Arthur had tried to warn her, but the picture he painted could never do justice to the reality of what had occurred that night. He had helped prepare the giant room that was normally used for worship of the old gods and had transformed its dusty halls and cobwebbed chamber into a healing tent her Nan would have envied.

Cots lined every inch of the floor space leaving just enough room between them to allow movement from one patient to the next. Blankets, straw stuffed pillows, and a numerous amount of donated tunics that could be stripped into makeshift bandages and rags stood bundled in the corner. A table in the far left of the room, near a dilapidated bust of a goddess with the sun and moon in her hands, held numerous potions that Gaius had brewed over the past few days. Gaius and Gwen were to see to the minor injuries while Awen was to concern herself only with those that needed immediate attention in order to conserve her strength. Buckets of what had once been water from the Sacred Fountain in the hall adjacent to their own hung from hooks along the wall. Arthur had been forced to argue with an old priest for over thirty minutes about using the fountain as a water source.

"Sire," the priest said calmly. "You must understand my position. The gods will take great offense and that is unacceptable."

"Let them take offense," Arthur replied coolly. "That is not my concern, old man. I care very little for what the old gods take offense to. What I do care about is that my men receive the care they require. Your temple offers the only other natural spring besides the well and—"

"Use the well then," the priest pleaded. "Sire, these waters have remained sacred since the beginning of Camelot. You must not anger—"

"I will do what I must," Arthur snapped. "The well is not a viable option. It will cost us too much time and we cannot sacrifice the men needed to carry it. If the gods cannot understand that then perhaps they are not fit to be the gods Camelot worships."

"Sire," the priest gasped, appalled. "You must not say such things. It's heresy!"

"I am a heretic, then," Arthur said calmly, unfazed by the priest's accusations. "But, I will also remind you that I am your king and that my word is law. I will see to my men and their safety before anything else, the gods be damned."

And that had been that. There was very little a priest could do to change the mind of a king, especially one who seemed to care very little for his immortal soul. Arthur had almost immediately turned his attention from the priest to her and Awen was struck at how methodical the man seemed. The smiling, unconcerned Arthur Pendragon was no longer present, but had been replaced by a man burdened with the lives of his men and people, a man whose sole purpose was to protect and serve or die trying.

He had spoken to her in gentle tones of what she should expect to see as the battle for Camelot raged outside the temple doors. He had tried to prepare her for the anguish, the pain, and the terror of the men who would be brought to her, but she hadn't understood. Not really. The monstrosities of war and battle, no matter how righteous the cause, can never really be understood until witnessed first hand. Only when men had died beneath her hands, their last agonized moments spent pleading for the comforting touch of the mothers that birthed them and their blood sticky and hot upon her skin, only then had she really understood. And she had hated it.

The men she could not save had quickly become a blur of names, ages, and wounds, but she would always remember her first, perhaps for the rest of her life. He had been a young man, no older than eighteen. He was carried in by two of his companions, boys no older than the man himself, and laid upon a nearby cot as gently as was possible. His armor had been shredded by a creature's claws as thoroughly as a knife cuts through parchment and beneath the jagged, ruined metal the flesh of his stomach had been ripped into with deadly ease. Blood bubbled and gushed up from the wound and every time the boy screamed it sluiced down the sides of his mouth, foamy and bright.

She had tried to save him. She had desperately worked at the buckles of his armor, unable to release the latches because her fingers were shaking so badly. In the end, one of the soldier's companions had gently eased her hands away and shook his head, eyes far too knowledgeable for one so young. She looked from him to the boy and had been stunned to see he'd died as she'd fumbled for the catches of his armor, eyes staring vacantly upward, hand stretched limply towards her as if he'd been trying to reach her before death had taken him.

She wanted to grieve. Wanted to rage and cry, but she couldn't. Almost immediately after the boy another man came in, arm wrenched from his socket and screaming for the gods to save him. And so it had gone, one after the other, in a steady stream of blood and death, pain and agony, just as Arthur had warned.

Of course, it quickly became clear to Awen that screaming was easy. It was predictable and true. When men screamed she could understand their pain, understand their terror and desperation. It was the silence that scared her. Men who came to her with wounds so horrible it was all she could do not to gag, but never saying a word, watching her work with lifeless, glassy eyes and calm detachment. One young man asked her if she thought the king would be proud of him, his remaining eye studying her face for the honesty of her answer. A demon had crushed the left side of his skull and it was a wonder to Awen that he was speaking at all, but his voice never wavered and remained strong and confident.

"I served him well, didn't I," he asked her, even as she spoke the words of healing beneath her breath. "I only wanted to serve him well. He is a good king and I want to make him proud. Did I make him proud? I hope I—hope I—hope—made him proud…"

He had died before she could complete the words and though her magic was powerful she could not bring back the dead, no matter how much she wished she could.

"Arthur would be so proud," she said softly, closing the young man's eyes with a gentle sweep of her hand. "And I swear he will know of your sacrifice."

When Arthur had come to her, bringing the young Bedwyr in his arms, Awen had been on the verge of breaking. She wondered what she must look like to the king and if he thought she was weak, but when she finally dared to meet his eyes there was nothing but understanding and concern in the blue depths of his steady gaze. His calm and reassuring words had eased her doubts and soothed her fears, allowing her to attack her duties with more vehemence than before. Men still died and the pain was still there, but she concentrated on the lives she had saved, the wives who would greet their husbands and children who would kiss their father's stubbly cheeks. Eventually, once the battle was over, she would grieve for those lost. They all would, but that time would come later.

She began to treat the wounded with an almost mindless efficiency. So mindless, in fact, that she did not hear the shouts and cries of jubilation from the soldiers outside the temple doors. She did not see the flash of golden light as the wall Merlin had crafted went speeding down the streets of Camelot, vanquishing demons in spurts of fire as it went. She wasn't even aware the battle was over until Guinevere had taken her by the shoulder and forced her to sit in the single unoccupied chair and handed her a cup of water.

"Drink," Guinevere ordered.

"No time," Awen argued, trying to stand.

"Make time," Gwen countered. "The battle has been won, Awen. You must rest while you have the chance."

"Won," Awen repeated dumbly. "We won? Merlin's spell? It worked?"

"So it would seem," Gwen said, her eyes dancing. "The enemy has been vanquished and city is secure."

"And Merlin," Awen asked. "Where is he? Is he safe?"

"I cannot say for sure," Gwen frowned. "I can only hope that he—"

"Help," a broken voice screamed. "Please! Help!"

Gwen's face drained of color and Awen felt her blood freeze in her veins. They knew that voice. Gwen turned and Awen stood, looking over her shoulder at the man she now called king.

Arthur's face was grimy with soot and splattered with dirt and blood. He cradled Merlin against his chest, the warlock's arms and legs dangling from his arms, head tipped back lifelessly. Gwain followed behind his king, carrying Morgana over his shoulder.

"Awen," Arthur choked. "Awen, he's not…he's not breathing."

He set the warlock gently down upon a cot and pulled back, looking expectantly at the Fair Folk woman. She stared back at him, not moving, her mouth open in a silent scream.

No, she thought. No, no, no, no, no. This couldn't be happening. Not now. He had promised her he would be safe, hadn't he? He had promised! And now…now he was lost to her. There was no doubt in Awen's mind that he was dead. She had reached out to him with her mind, expecting to feel the answering call of his spirit against her own, weak perhaps, but not gone, no, never gone. But, it was gone. The soothing whisper of his magic was lost to the void, his kindness, his laughter, his very presence had disappeared along a path she could not follow.

"Dead," she choked out. "He's dead."

No pain yet. No, no pain. No sorrow, no agonizing heartache or grief. Awen felt nothing but an empty pit in her soul and a hopelessness unlike anything she had ever experienced.

"No," Arthur growled. "No, that's not true! You can save him, Awen. You have to save him!"

"Dead," she said again. "I can't heal the dead, Arthur."

"He's not dead," Arthur screamed. "He can't be dead, don't you see? He's Merlin! He's supposed to be here by my side…we're supposed to rule together! It's prophecy! He can't just…no, he's not dead! I won't let him be dead. Not now…not after…please, Awen. I can't do this without him."

Awen said nothing and Arthur stared at her in disbelief. He shook his head once, swallowed, then fell to his knees beside his friend. Gwen tried to stop him, but he shook her off.

"Fine," he snarled. "If you won't even try I will do it myself!"

The king laid his hands upon Merlin's chest and muttered something beneath his breath. He opened his eyes when he was done and stared at Merlin hopefully. The warlock remained still.

"He taught me the words," Arthur whispered hoarsely. "I don't understand…he taught me the words, Gwen! Why aren't they working? What's the point of magic if it doesn't even work?"

"Arthur," Gwen said softly, tears falling down her cheeks. "Arthur, I am so sorry. He's gone."

"Don't say that," Arthur snarled. "Don't you ever say that! He's not gone." Arthur grasped Merlin's tunic in his fists and shook him. "Don't do this to me now, you idiot. You've faced worse before, haven't you? If this is your idea of a joke, Merlin, you need to rethink the definition of funny."

"Arthur," Gwen began.

"Damn you," Arthur yelled, pushing Merlin away from him. "You said you would be there for me! You said…you promised, Merlin. You swore you would always be by my side, but you lied! You lied! Do you hear me you stupid, worthless idiot? You—oh gods, Merlin don't do this. Please, don't…please, wake up. Just…wake up, Merlin."

But, Merlin didn't wake up. He didn't so much as twitch and Gwen began to sob. Arthur stared at the warlock's unmoving form for a long time then slowly got to his feet. He took a small chain from his pocket and placed it reverently upon Merlin's chest, taking the young man's hands and folding them over the top of the solitary ring that was looped through the chain.

"You didn't even try," he said to Awen quietly, blue eyes twin pools of anger and grief. "You said you loved him, but you didn't even try."

He turned away from her and started to make his way through the temple doors, but was stopped by Gwain.

"Sire," the knight said, voice hoarse with emotion. "Sire, what of Morgana?"

The young king looked to the prone form of his sister, eyes open but unseeing.

"Make her as comfortable as possible," he replied lifelessly. "There is little else we can do at the moment. Not until we find out exactly what happened to her."

"Arthur," Gwen asked. "Where are you going? Your men—"

"Are fine on their own," Arthur said. "I can't stay here. I need to be alone." He looked once at Merlin and his face crumpled in pain. He shook his head once and left, his fists clenched in emotion.

The pain hit her then. The pit in her stomach filled with acidic grief so harsh that she gasped aloud and collapsed to the floor trying to breathe past the hole in her chest.

"No," she wheezed out. "Merlin."

She crawled to him, mindless in her need to touch him, to heal him. What had she done? Why had she frozen like that? Arthur was right, she hadn't even tried and now Merlin was dead, taken from her forever.

Her fingers pressed against his cooling skin, digging and clawing to find a spark, any spark, that would bring him back to her. Back to Arthur and Camelot. Back to the life he deserved and the prophecy he would fulfill. Her tears splattered against his tunic and when her fingers failed to find the spark she was looking for she kissed him. His fingers, his cheeks, his eyelids, his forehead and finally, his lips, pressing her mouth against his in mindless desperation.

And there, against all odds, she felt a murmur of life stir within him, a small flame of his spirit still burning against the darkness. She shrieked in happiness and kissed him again, willing her magic through him with the touch of her lips, the feel of her fingers in his hair, the love that swelled in her heart. Pulling back, she watched him, waiting for him to open his eyes and smile at her, as if the whole time he'd merely been asleep and she'd woken him from his dreams.

For a long moment nothing happened. Merlin's chest did not rise, his eyes did not open, and he did not smile. She continued to watch him, waiting, but he did not move.

"Awen," Gwen said, sitting beside her. "Awen, I am so sorry. He's—"

Merlin gasped suddenly, his chest expanding as he desperately sucked air into his lungs. Gwen and Awen both leapt back, startled, but Gwain had enough sense to step behind the warlock so he didn't knock himself to the floor. Awen was instantly upon him, clutching his tunic in her hands as his breathing slowed and evened out. Color began to rise in his cheeks and though he did not open his eyes he grasped her hand in his own.

"Merlin," Awen cried. "Merlin, can you hear me?"

"What happened," Merlin asked weakly, opening his eyes.

Awen blinked and frowned, looking closer at the color of Merlin's pupils. They still held the bottomless blue color Awen found so enchanting, but were now speckled with gold, like a robin's egg, as if the magic Kilgarrah had lent to him had decided to take up permanent residence.

"What is it," Merlin said, watching her face.

"Your eyes," Awen choked out, tears spilling down her cheeks. "They're…oh, never mind. Merlin, I thought I'd lost you."

"You did," Merlin said softly, hugging her close. "I went away for awhile. The things I saw—I think—I think I saw Avalon, Awen. I can't be sure, really, but—hey, did we win?"

"We won," Awen said happily. "You're plan worked, Merlin. It worked and—"

"Arthur," Merlin interrupted. "He's alright? He's safe?"

"Oh," Awen gasped, looking up at Gwain in horror. "Arthur! Gwain, he still thinks…oh, no."

"What," Merlin asked, sitting up. "What is it? What's wrong with Arthur?"

"Nothing," Awen replied quickly. "Nothing is wrong with Arthur. It's just…well, he thinks you're dead, Merlin."

"He thinks I'm dead," Merlin repeated. "Why would he think that?"

"I froze," Awen cried. "I couldn't feel you, Merlin. Before, when you were with the darkness, I could feel your spirit and I knew you were still fighting, but…I couldn't feel you and I thought…I thought…"

"You thought I was dead," Merlin supplied.

"I was so cold, Merlin. I couldn't feel anything, but cold. It was like I was frozen and I couldn't do anything to help you. Arthur tried everything. He even tried magic."

"He did what?"

"Magic," Awen answered. "Or at least he tried to. He couldn't do it."

"Gwen has already gone to tell him," Gwain said as Merlin tried to scramble out of the bed and rush to his friend's side. "You need to rest, Merlin. You've obviously gone through a lot."

"I don't remember most of it," Merlin said, settling back reluctantly. "I remember Kilgarrah breathing fire, the spell, and then—" His face paled. "Gwaine, Morgana she—she saved my life! She jumped in front of a spell meant for me! Where is she?"

Gwain jerked his head over to the cot in the corner and Merlin's jaw dropped. He tried to get free of the bed once more, couldn't, then held out his hand to Awen.

"Help me," he ordered. "Please. I need to see her."

Awen helped him to his feet, Gwain having to swoop down to support his other side as he wobbled. His brush with death had left him weaker than a newborn kitten and she wondered how long it would take until he got his strength back.

When the warlock reached Morgana he tenderly brushed her hair back from her face and sighed. He took her hand in his and squeezed as if trying to lend her courage and Awen couldn't help but notice the stray tear that fell down his cheek.

"I remember now," he said softly. "Azarath was going to trap me, Awen. He was going to keep me locked away in my nightmares and Morgana stopped him. She sacrificed herself for me."

"We'll find a way to save her," Awen said gently. "I know we will."

"Or die trying," Merlin whispered.


	22. Insane in the Membrane

**Author's Note: **_Thank you all so much for the reviews! I loved reading them all! Anyways, here is the next chapter and it is a really long one. I sort of switched directions at the last second but it still makes sense. I promise! This is the second to last chapter of this story. The next story in the series will be called "A Path to Insanity" and it will be verrrrrryyyyy long. Anyways, I hope you all enjoy the chapter and please let me know if you do! REVIEWS! _

Uther Pendragon had often warned his son about the dangers of becoming too attached to any of his subjects. Men had a nasty habit of dying and as a king he could not afford to be overcome with grief every time death reared its ugly head. Arthur had always believed his father a bit cold when he spoke of men's lives as if they were sheep chosen for slaughter. He had never understood the logic behind his father's warnings until now. Until Merlin had been ripped away from him.

He knew he had men to take care of, a city to concern himself with, refugees to free, but every time he thought he could move he would be bowled over with grief and loss, the pain of it ripping his heart from his chest. How could he be a good king when all he could think about were Merlin's final moments up on the roof? Perhaps, if he had moved faster or tried the magic earlier, maybe Merlin wouldn't be—

No, he wasn't going to think like that. He would drive himself mad if he followed that path. He had done what he could and that was the end of it because he was the king, damn it, and he had a responsibility to his people. Merlin would have wanted him to—and just like that any sense of duty he had mustered trickled away from him as grief crashed against him in waves.

Merlin was gone. Truly, irrevocably gone. Arthur knew this to be true but hated himself for admitting it, some childish part of him still clinging to the hope that his friend was merely pretending to be dead, perhaps to teach him some valuable lesson about—well, he didn't know what sort of knowledge could be gained from a man's pretend death unless Merlin's goal was to impress upon the king how much he needed the warlock. If this were the case Merlin had proven his point particularly well.

The shouts and commands in the courtyard below him was a constant, buzzing reminder that Arthur had a million other things he should be concentrating on, but still he did not move. It was as if any semblance of direction he might have retained had been stripped away by the crushing pain in his chest. He was a king, true enough, but he was also a man. And didn't a man have the right to grieve? Didn't a man have the right to rage and scream and…cry?

There had been no tears. Not yet, anyways. He was waiting for them to come, desperately wishing the dam would break so that he could cry and maybe, after his cries were spent, he would be free of the agonizing sense of loss and be able to function again. But, still, he could not weep. He was too tired, too empty, for tears and the pain continued on and on, relentless in its mission to break him.

Arthur looked up listlessly as twin roars of pain and grief echoed across the night sky. He had not seen the dragons since his panicked flight up onto the rooftops, the giant red dragon curling its body protectively around Merlin, the white dragon hovering over Morgana. He'd skidded to his knees beside his friend, lifting his limp body against his chest even as he did so. The young man had been fighting for breath, hands slipping against Arthur's armor as he clutched at him, as if begging his friend to help him breathe.

But, Arthur couldn't help him breathe. All he could do was run as fast as he could to the temple in the hopes that Awen could save him. Awen _would_ save him. She had to. After all, she had saved him before and besides, she loved him, didn't she?

Yes, she loved him and she would save him. He would run, faster then he ever had before, and Awen would save him and Merlin would wake up and they would laugh and smile and tease each other after it was all over because that was what they had always done. Even as Merlin stopped struggling for air, even as his body went limp in his arms, even as he started sightlessly up at him from his position in Arthur's arms, the king believed that everything would work out in the end.

And yet, if this were the case, why was he standing alone in the cold air, alive but not alive, a man with no purpose and no hope? Was this going to be his life? Was this what Merlin had reduced him to? He found himself wishing that the warlock had never come to Camelot. Perhaps then he wouldn't be feeling so empty inside. Perhaps then he would be the king his father had trained him to be. Perhaps then he—

"Arthur," Gwen called from behind him. "Arthur, its Merlin! He's—"

"Dead," Arthur croaked. "He's dead, Gwen. I know."

"No," she whispered, turning him to face her. "No, Arthur, he isn't. He's alive. Awen saved him. He's not dead!"

"Not dead," Arthur repeated numbly. "But, I saw him, Guinevere. I felt his heart stop and Awen—she wouldn't even try."

"Arthur," Gwen said gently, cupping his cheek in her hand and pulling him close. "He's alive, love. I swear upon my life he's alive."

He pulled back from her and read the truth in her eyes. So, Merlin was alive then. He was alive and not dead and Arthur didn't have to cry because there was nothing to cry about. Then why did he still feel so empty?

A sudden, harsh and unrelenting need to see his friend, touch him, hear his voice filled Arthur and before he even knew what he was doing he was bounding down the castle steps, taking them two and three at a time, reckless with longing. He heard Gwen cry out after him, but he paid her no mind. The emptiness would not be filled until he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that Merlin hadn't abandoned him to live out his mortal life alone.

He wove in and out of carts and soldiers, dodging their greetings and questioning stares with a mindless ease. Nothing mattered until Merlin was alright, until he was grinning sheepishly up at him and reprimanding him for running around like a madman. Oh, his heart would surge with happiness in that moment. He would laugh and shout and then, after he made sure Merlin was unharmed, he would pummel him for scaring the living daylights out of him. But, he would not hope, would not dare to hope until he'd seen the man for himself.

He burst through the doors of the temple and nearly ran down the priest, knocking his bucket from his hands and sending his precious Sacred Water sloshing all over the floor. He heard the priest curse after him as he continued through the temple hall, stepping over wounded and sleeping soldiers, blood squishing beneath his boots. A few of the men that were awake called out to him in greeting and he managed to retain enough self-control to manage a simple albeit rushed reply.

Gaius stood in the corner and Arthur made a beeline for him, but the old physician merely pointed his finger to the priest's chambers with a knowing smile on his wrinkled face.

A long hallway with a series of doors on the right and left hand sides stretched out in front of him. Arthur didn't bother knocking on any of them. He merely opened up the doors until he found the one he was looking for pausing before stepping inside.

Awen glanced up at him and smiled softly though she wouldn't meet his eyes. He couldn't see the bed from where he was standing and for a moment he had to fight the sudden urge to flee. What if they had been mistaken? What if Merlin really was dead and Arthur had allowed himself to hope for nothing? Could he do it again? Could he face the pain of losing Merlin all over?

Then, as if from a dream, a soft and teasing voice said, "The kennel master is going to mistake you for one of his hounds if you keep panting like that."

Arthur's jaw shut with a click and he pushed the door open the rest of the way. Merlin was staring at him, bemused, from across the room, wrapped tightly in blankets and propped up with a few pillows beneath his thin frame. He looked weak and slightly feverish, but his cheeks were ruddy and his eyes were bright and steady. Arthur drank him in like a man dying of thirst, unable to speak past the lump in his throat.

Merlin, obviously uncomfortable beneath his king's penetrating gaze, shifted in his bed and grimaced. He looked at Awen and squeezed her hand.

"Give us a moment," he asked her.

"Of course," the Fair Folk woman replied.

She kissed him, once on the lips and once on top of his head, then edged past Arthur and through the door, closing it softly behind her. She would not look at him and he wondered how long it would be before they finally chose to acknowledge what had happened between them earlier. For the moment, however, his only wish was to talk to Merlin and he turned back to his friend with a ghost of smile on his lips.

"Would you stop looking at me like that?" Merlin asked testily. "It makes your face look funny. I mean, I know your face normally looks a little funny, but now it really looks—oomfph!"

Arthur was only half listening to Merlin's little speech about his face. He was too busy crossing the room in giant strides, unsure whether he wanted to pummel him or hug him. In the end, he opted for a little of both, smacking him lightly upside his head then promptly pulling him into a bone crushing embrace. Merlin squirmed in his grasp and his protests were muffled by Arthur's arm.

"Armor," Merlin gasped out. "Hurts."

"Oh," Arthur said, releasing him. "Sorry, Merlin. I forgot I hadn't taken it off."

"Believe me," Merlin huffed, rubbing a red spot shaped like Arthur's buckle high up on his cheek. "I didn't."

"Sorry," Arthur said again. "But, you kind of deserved it."

"I…what?" Merlin spluttered. "How exactly did I deserve a buckle in my face? In case you haven't noticed, Arthur, my plan worked. The demons are gone and the city is safe. If anything I deserve a castle of my own and a holiday…a long one…without you mucking it up."

"You scared me," Arthur admitted softly.

"I know," Merlin replied. "But, I'm fine, really. A little weak maybe, but that will eventually fade. It always does, right?"

"I suppose."

"Arthur?"

"Yes?"

"Did you really try and use magic?"

"That's preposterous, Merlin."

"So that's a yes?"

"I have nothing else to say on the matter."

"Arthur, I don't know whether to be proud or embarrassed."

"Why embarrassed? I did the best that I—"

"So, you admit to trying?"

"Merlin," Arthur sighed, rubbing a hand across his face. "I don't have time to answer your silly questions. I've got things to do. Important things."

"I could teach you if you like," Merlin said, unfazed by Arthur's insistence of a new subject.

"Why on earth would I want to learn magic when I've got you around to do it for me," Arthur asked, smirking at his friend.

"Well," Merlin replied seriously. "What if…what if I'm not?"

"Not what?"

"Around, Arthur. Don't act stupid…you knew what I meant."

"Merlin, I just got you back. I'm not talking about this right now. I was serious when I said I had important things to do."

"So was I, sire. Listen, what happened tonight proves that I may not be here forever and—"

"Stop it," Arthur said coldly. "You don't know what it was like, Merlin. What if felt like losing you. I tried everything to save you and I couldn't. It was like the Darkness all over again except this time it was worse because there was nothing for me to fight. You were dead and that was the end of it. So, excuse me if it's a touchy subject for me."

"Arthur—"

"Just give me time to process everything," Arthur snapped. "Fifteen minutes ago my best friend was dead and now your not. I spent my night fighting demons that possessed corpses, watched the majority of the Lower Town get burned down by dragons I allowed in my city, saw you conjure some giant magic wall and toss it around like it was nothing, and stood by while my crazed half sister got thrown in some nightmare dimension. I think I've earned a little decompression time, don't you?"

"Sorry," Merlin murmured. "Arthur, I know this had to be hard for you."

"You know what's funny, Merlin?"

"What?"

"I was fine up until you died. Everything that happened and everything that was going to happen seemed almost trivial when I knew you would be there beside me, but…but the moment I had to face it all alone…it all became too real."

"You won't have to face this alone, Arthur. I'm here and I'm not going anywhere…at least not any time soon."

Arthur glared at him and he smiled sheepishly. Stupid idiotic warlocks. How could he be so cavalier about it all? He had been dead fifteen minutes ago, but Merlin acted as if he'd merely taken an unpleasant stroll around the castle grounds. His eyes were bright, but not from his fever and they—

"Merlin," Arthur exclaimed. "Your eyes! They're all—"

"Yes," Merlin sighed. "They've changed a little bit, but honestly, I don't know why everyone is making such a big deal about it. I picked up a few things while I was…ummm…you know…and believe me when I say that a few golden flecks in my eyes is the least of it."

"What are you prattling on about, Merlin?"

"Avalon," Merlin exclaimed, fidgeting with nervousness like a horse that sensed something not quite right.

"The island," Arthur asked with a furrowed brow.

"Yes and no," Merlin said hastily. "There is an island, Arthur, but Avalon—the real Avalon—doesn't exist on the mortal plane. It—"

"Hold on," Arthur said, holding up an impatient hand. "I'm not some magical guru, Merlin. What's this about planes? What exactly is a plane?"

"You don't listen to a word I say, do you? I've probably explained planes five times over the past six months."

"Explain it again. This time I swear I'm listening."

"Right," Merlin sighed. "Planes. There are seven in all. For the sake of your sanity and my own we'll only deal with the important ones. You and I live on the second plane. It's purely physical and everything that you and I know exists on that level. Then there is the third plane that contains spirits, magic, and minor deities. Sometimes the third plane crosses over into the second and sometimes people that live on the second plane connect with the third."

"Like you?"

"Exactly," Merlin confirmed. "Awen to. We are…well, for lack of a better term we are 'higher beings' which just means we contain aspects of the third plane. Then there is the fifth plane and this particular level is a dark one. It's where the demons of the world reside, Arthur. The Darkness, the demons we faced tonight, and worse."

"What about the fourth plane?"

"I am getting to that. The fourth plane is what we call Avalon. This plane contains all levels of higher beings. Gods and goddesses, high spirits, the souls of dragons, fairies and the like. Its very rare that mortals catch glimpses into this plane, Arthur, although there are certain places on our plane that are…reflections of the power that resides there."

"Like the island?"

"Yes, like the island. They are very rare and are extremely hard to find unless you know they exist, but the power is there…if you know how to use it. The Old Religion originated from this plane, Arthur. Priestesses dedicated their lives to its study and to finding a way to raise themselves to a level of magic high enough to reside there themselves."

"So, what does this have to do with you exactly?"

"Arthur," Merlin whispered. "I…I was there, Arthur. I was in Avalon."

"You were there," Arthur repeated. "Merlin, are you sure you weren't just…I don't know…dreaming?"

"Dreaming," Merlin asked incredulously. "Arthur, I was dead. I don't think I was dreaming."

"Technically you weren't dead," Arthur said sagely. "Awen wouldn't have been able to bring you back if you had been completely dead."

Merlin frowned and pursed his lips pensively as if debating in his mind whether he should inform his friend about some secret he contained.

"What," Arthur asked. "What aren't you telling me, Merlin?"

"Nothing," Merlin replied quickly.

"Don't be an idiot and lie to me, Merlin. I haven't forgotten that you fibbed about your plan this evening. Don't push your luck."

"Fine," Merlin sighed. "But…you have to promise me something?"

"No, Merlin. You cannot have a castle…or a holiday."

Merlin glanced up at him and smiled. It was a weak, pained thing and Arthur didn't like it one bit.

"That wasn't what I was going to ask," Merlin said quietly. "But…never mind, you and I will have to deal with our issues later. I was going to ask—"

"Hold on," Arthur said loudly. "You and I have issues? Since when?"

"Arthur, we really don't have to do this now."

"Oh, yes we do. Merlin, what issues? Are you angry with me? Have I done something wrong? I thought—I thought you would have been happy about everything between us. You've finally received the recognition you deserve…I made you my second in command…what else can I do?"

"This has nothing to do with any of that," Merlin said softly. "Arthur, you have been incredible these past few months. Honestly, never in my wildest dreams did I think you would be this understanding or this willing to change everything you knew, but…"

"But?"

"Arthur, I'm stretched thin. Can't you see that? I…I was ripped apart by the Darkness and sure, we talked about it, but I never really had a chance to deal with it. I don't sleep and simply being in your throne room with the court makes me feel like I'm going to claw my skin off if I don't get out of there. I can't do it anymore, Arthur. I've got to…well, I need a break."

"From me, you mean?"

"No," Merlin said appalled. "No, that isn't what I meant. Not entirely anyways. Arthur, you care too much. I never thought I'd say that in a million years, but its true. And while I appreciate the gesture sometimes I feel like I'm suffocating under it. Like…I have to be all right for you and somehow that just makes dealing with it harder. I just need time to come to terms with what happened to me, Arthur."

"Take it then," Arthur said emotionlessly. "After you feel strong enough to travel, go."

"Arthur—"

"What were you going to ask," Arthur interrupted, trying not to show the hurt he felt on his face.

"Sire," Merlin pleaded. "Please, you're taking this all—"

"What were you going to ask," Arthur asked again, voice hoarse and cold.

Merlin winced and looked away. Arthur frowned and guilt gnawed at his belly like a dog gnaws a bone. He really could be an insensitive prat sometimes, couldn't he? There was nothing wrong with what Merlin was asking and it even made sense in Arthur's mind. He had seen with his own eyes what the Darkness had done to him, heard Merlin's screams and felt his fear. If the only thing Merlin required to heal was time who was he to deny him?

"I'm sorry," Arthur sighed. "I shouldn't have reacted like that. I'm just tired is all. Take the time you need, Merlin. Your position will be here waiting for you when you return."

"Thank you," Merlin whispered. "But, well—I'm afraid my holiday will have to wait."

Arthur blinked in disbelief. "I don't understand you at all, Merlin. First you say you want a holiday and then you refuse to take it?"

"There is something we have to do first," Merlin breathed. "Something important and it all comes back to what I was saying before. I was going to ask you not to tell Awen."

"Not tell Awen what?"

"She didn't bring me back, Arthur."

"What do you mean she didn't bring you back? Gwen saw her do it."

"She did…and she didn't. It's complicated, sire."

"Everything with you is complicated. Honestly, Merlin, if you had told me you being a warlock would make things so bloody confusing I would have sacked you a long time ago."

"Funny, Arthur, as usual."

"I know. I hardly have to try. Now, back to what you were saying, Merlin. How did Awen not save you?"

"Alright," Merlin said. "Are you listening? I am only going to tell this story once."

"You have my complete attention," Arthur replied, settling back into the chair beside Merlin's bed.

"I told you I went to Avalon," Merlin began. "The things I saw there, Arthur, you would never believe me if I told you. The thing you have to understand about the spirits and deities that reside there is that they are neutral when it comes to matters of the mortal world. For the most part they are neither good nor evil."

"That's good then," Arthur muttered.

"Not as good as you would think," Merlin warned. "When a person is evil you know what to expect. You know they will do evil things and you can prepare accordingly. It works the same way if they are good. But, if they are neither? How do you prepare for that? You can't and they know it. The entities in Avalon could have crushed me like a bug without a second thought just as easily as they could have helped me. They are timeless beings, Arthur, and when it comes to mortals they care very little about their actions. It all depends on the mood you catch them in."

"Sounds like fun," Arthur quipped.

"I got lucky," Merlin smiled. "I met a goddess there, Arthur. She was…by the gods, I have never seen anything like her. She was beautiful, but in a way that was both terrifying and pleasant all at the same time. Her name was Ceridwen. Do you know her?"

"I know the Druids worship her," Arthur answered. "She's the goddess of life or something like that, isn't she?"

"Not exactly," Merlin explained. "She's the goddess of rebirth and transformation. And…she's the goddess of magic, Arthur."

"And what did she say to you?"

"She asked me for a boon, Arthur. A quest."

"Oh, gods. This doesn't sound good."

"No, listen, its better than you think. She told me that my time on the mortal plane was not yet over and that I still had work to do. She could return me back to the third plane, Arthur, as a spirit, but if I was unable to find my way back I would be doomed to wander there alone. That is where Awen pulled me back from, you see? I was dead, truly and irrevocably dead, but Ceridwen sent me back."

"And the boon?"

"A dagger," Merlin replied. "She wants me…us…to find a dagger."

"A dagger," Arthur asked incredulously. "You can't be serious? I have a city to rebuild and she wants me to waste time finding a dagger?"

"It's not just a dagger, sire. It's…and this is the part you aren't going to like…it belongs to Arawn. He's the—"

"Him I know," Arthur said darkly. "He's the god of Annwfn, isn't he? The Underworld? War and revenge to if my memory serves. My father had a shrine built for him in his room. Seems fitting, doesn't it?"

"Arthur—"

"Sorry, Merlin. I'm still a little bitter, I suppose."

"That's understandable," Merlin said quietly.

"Hmmm...Merlin, perhaps its just me, but doesn't retrieving a dagger for the god of war and revenge seem like a bad idea?"

"Normally," Merlin replied, allowing the subject change. "I would agree with you, but…this time…I think the positives outweigh the negatives. Besides, we wouldn't exactly be returning the dagger to him. We'd be stealing it from him."

"What," Arthur exclaimed. "What could possibly be worth that?"

"Ceridwen promised me something in return, Arthur. A vial of her tears."

"I'm sorry…did you say her tears? How is that a reward?"

"Arthur, she's the goddess of rebirth—think about it!"

"I am thinking about it, Merlin. But, I still don't understand how a vial of tears equates to the risk we'd be taking by stealing a dagger of war."

"Her tears are the most powerful and pure magic on this earth. They have the ability to bring back the souls of those lost and the minds of—"

"Hold on," Arthur barked. "I see what this is about, Merlin. This is about Morgana. Well, I am sorry but that is completely out of the question."

"Arthur," Merlin protested. "She saved my life!"

"She wouldn't have had to if she hadn't called the demons up in the first place. One good deed doesn't undo the countless evils she committed."

"So, you're saying we leave her there? Nobody deserves that fate, Arthur. I don't care how many evils they have committed."

"What I'm saying is that I am not allowing you to risk your safety and the safety of the entire realm to save her. If a reasonable and attainable solution makes itself known then we'll—"

"It's not just Morgana," Merlin snapped. "It's about you to, sire."

"What do you mean?"

"The spell," Merlin groaned. "The one that hit you—"

"I already told you," Arthur huffed. "It dented my armor, is all."

"No," Merlin said, shaking his head miserably. "It did a great deal more damage then a few dents in your armor, sire."

"How do you know that? I feel fine."

"Ceridwen told me, Arthur. A demon's magic isn't used to cause death. Its main purpose is to inflict pain and insanity upon its victims. She showed me what happens to you and…"

"And what?"

"Arthur, if we don't return the dagger and get the tears you'll go mad."

"Mad? You mean 'out of my gourd' crazy? Never going to happen, Merlin."

"It will," Merlin insisted. "I saw it myself and I saw what happens to Camelot if you do."

"What? What happens?"

"It burns," Merlin whispered, his eyes closed against some vision Arthur could not see. "And we all burn with it."

Arthur felt sick. There was no way what Merlin was saying could be true. Absolutely no way. His encounter with the goddess had merely been a delusional figment of a man close to death because Arthur wasn't going insane. He couldn't be going insane.

Yet, he couldn't help but think about the thread of irrational fear that had slinked into his mind after the demon's spell had punched into him. It had felt like worms crawling beneath his skin and he shuddered at the memory. Too easy, he thought. I knew it was too easy after it happened. I get hit by magic that powerful and all that happens is dented armor? Too damn easy.

"How long," Arthur asked quietly. "How long until I…you know."

"I don't know," Merlin whispered. "Soon."

"And these tears? They'll stop it from happening?"

"That's what Ceridwen said."

"And if she was lying?"

"I don't think she was, Arthur."

"Humor me, Merlin. If she was?"

"I—I don't want to think about that, sire. Nothing good would come of it."

"Alright," Arthur breathed. "Alright, Merlin, alright. I—gods, what am I supposed to tell Guinevere? And my people?"

"We'll tell them what they need to hear," Merlin said simply. "I have no intentions of allowing this to happen to you, Arthur. You'll be fine."

"Where do we find this dagger," Arthur asked, not wanting to think of the consequences if they failed.

"You aren't going to like the answer."

"Tell me, Merlin. Now."

"Arthur, the dagger remains in Avalon."

"What? Why can't she get it then?"

"Because she can't touch it, Arthur. It would destroy her and Avalon would be cast into a war for the first time in centuries."

"So? What does that have to do with us?"

"Everything, Arthur. Just because we don't exist on the same plane doesn't mean that what occurs there doesn't affect us. If the gods and goddesses go to war there will be chaos on earth. Storms the likes of which we've never seen before. Famine, plagues, droughts."

"Won't stealing the dagger infuriate the god of war, Merlin? Do you see the flaws in this plan because I certainly do."

"No," Merlin huffed. "Arawn is trying to start a war, Arthur. That is what he wants. It's the only way he can challenge the head god and come out on top. Ceridwen is trying to stop this from happening, but she is forbidden to touch another god's immortal instrument. But, if she convinces an emissary to steal it for her then it doesn't count. We aren't part of their world so we aren't held to the same limitations."

"Merlin, I think you are forgetting one tiny thing. How exactly are we supposed to get to Avalon? You said yourself that you can't just pop in and out of it at will."

"There's an entrance," Merlin explained. "In the far corner of Albion. It's a gateway and Ceridwen taught me how to open it."

"This is ridiculous," Arthur sighed. "Merlin, don't take this the wrong way, but sometimes I wish you weren't a warlock."

"If I wasn't you'd be dead by now," Merlin said softly.

"Ah. Yes, there is that little redeeming factor."

"Little," Merlin said, rolling his eyes. "Whatever you say, Arthur."

Arthur smiled wanly at his friend then pursed his lips in a frown.

"Merlin," he said. "If we make it through this next escapade I think I'll have officially seen everything."

"Not even close," Merlin countered.

Arthur laughed. Knuckles rapped softly on the wooden door and Arthur stood. Leon saluted his king, smiled at Merlin, then turned back to address Arthur with stiff, formal tones.

"Sire," the knight said. "I'm sorry to bother you, but the royal court requests your presence. And...Merlin's."

"Oh," Merlin said, obviously surprised. "What do they need me for?"

"They didn't say and it wasn't my place to ask. At first, I thought it might be about the refugees but Gaius already took care of that. You're guess is as good as mine."

"Merlin isn't strong enough for—"

"Yes, I am," Merlin interrupted, already pulling the sheets away from him. "Just…help me?"

"I don't think this is a good idea," Arthur said, frowning.

"Sure, it is," Merlin smirked. "Besides, I like the idea of you having to cart me around the castle. Perhaps it will teach you some humility."

Arthur laughed and Leon smiled. All right, Arthur thought as Merlin leaned his weight against him. I can do this. We can do this. After all, they had faced the unbeatable before, hadn't they? Sure, traveling to a world filled with gods and goddesses to steal a dagger from a seriously angry war god seemed a little more difficult than any previous adventure, but it wasn't insane, was it?

Except that was exactly what it was. Pure insanity, plain and simple. But, then again, the two unlikely friends had never been entirely level headed. It was what made them work, made them strong. Besides, madness seemed to be a spreading theme and if fate had already decided to send him down the path of insanity he might as well stick to it.

Sure, Arthur thought. This would be simple. No big deal. A piece of cake.

Right. Easy.

Laughable, really.


	23. Having Your Cake and Eating It To

**Author's Note: **_Well, hello everyone! I am sorry it has been so long since I have written, but I've been pretty busy lately. Who knew getting ready for a hurricane would be so tiring? Its been an interesting few days to say the least. As I am sure you have guessed our power is still on, thank gods, and as of right now our internet is holding up. The rest of NYC hasn't been as lucky…floods everywhere (which really suck by the way). I was in Manhattan just the other day and the water was up to my hips in some places…I got out quick I can assure you. Although, I will admit seeing the waves hit the piers was pretty cool….until it decided to surge up and flood everything. Queens is on fire and tons of houses in the Breezy Point area are just gone…its like a freaking disaster movie. My roomies and I are right outside a Zone A which is the worst flooding areas…all I can say, its pretty bad. Good news, mass transit FINALLY started working again today and for once I don't have to pay for it. Of course, it's only the buses because some of the subways are under water but…its transit, right? Anyways, sorry for my long A/N…I promise not to bore you anymore. I've decided to make this last for two more chapters instead of one. This chapter will be a little fluffy because I needed a break from the heaviness after this week. There is also a little shout out/reference to an actual scene in this season of Merlin. Anyways, please REVIEW because it's been a tough few days and I could really use some! _

A Greek man by the name of Aristotle once said that "it is not enough to win a war; it is more important to organize the peace." Merlin had not really understood what he meant by those words until he and Arthur stepped out into the courtyard, shivering slightly in the cool night air. Camelot had been through its fair share of wars and had seen more than enough carnage to last it a lifetime, but there had never been as much good blood spilt as there had been that night.

Bodies littered the cobbled streets and blood shone brightly beneath the light of the moon. Townsfolk, who had only recently been released from their refuge of stone, wandered through the dark alleys and bloodstained pathways with a sort of haunted desperation. Low, keening moans and pained screams of grief became a dismal soundtrack to the night as those kept safe during the fighting discovered their loved ones had been ripped away from them.

Merlin shivered and glanced over at his king. Arthur's eyes were agonized and when he opened his mouth to speak no sound passed his lips. He swallowed hard and closed his eyes, trying to regain his composure. When he finally opened them again Merlin couldn't help but notice the calm detachment that seemed to settle over him like a thick blanket.

"Sometimes I really hate being king," he said softly. "All these lives, Merlin. They were my responsibility and now they're dead."

"Arthur," Merlin whispered. "Don't do this to yourself. You did your be—"

"Don't," Arthur said harshly. "Don't you dare tell me I did my best. In the eyes of the people, a king can always do better."

"But—"

"We need to put out the fires," Arthur interrupted smoothly, refusing to look at his friend. "The Lower Town is completely destroyed, but if we get some one on it quickly enough we can salvage some of the upper homes."

"Arthur—"

"Can you do it? Put out the fires, I mean. Don't overdo it, but if you feel up to it than—"

"Gwres wedi mynd," Merlin sighed, closing his eyes against the nausea as his magic rushed out of him. When he opened them again all that remained of the fires were numerous clouds of smoke, curling gracefully up into the sky. Suddenly, any strength he'd managed to recover vanished and he slumped against Arthur, leaning the entirety of his weight on Arthur's broad shoulders.

"Merlin," Arthur exclaimed, self pity forgotten for the moment. "Are you alright?"

"Fine," he mumbled. "Just…really tired, Arthur. Whatever the council wants I hope it will be fast."

"Right," Arthur snorted. "The council…fast…not two words that normally fit together, Merlin."

"Don't remind me," Merlin groaned.

Arthur smiled wanly and hefted his old servant upright with a small grunt of effort. He wrapped the young man's arm around his shoulder and together they took a shaky step towards the castle doors.

"The sooner we get this over with," Arthur said. "The sooner we can deal with this mess."

The castle steps were a bit trickier than Merlin remembered and he tripped on more than one occasion. According to Arthur, such an occurrence was not that unusual but Merlin felt reasonably sure that while he wasn't always entirely steady on his feet he certainly had never tripped up the stairs, at least not as frequently and with as much enthusiasm as he had that night.

Once they were inside, with the door shut firmly behind them, Arthur's whole demeanor shifted. It seemed to Merlin that as long as his friend could not see the devastation of his city or hear the grieving cries of his people he became more himself and less like the pitiful, self-deprecating man Merlin had been introduced to outside. It certainly didn't hurt that the people within the castle walls didn't have their guts splattered all over the stones.

As they stumbled down the castle halls together it quickly became clear that Merlin's secret was out. Servants he'd worked with for years suddenly stared at him like he had two heads and made no apparent efforts to hide their curiosity. Some, like a young woman who worked in the cellars, skirted around him like he had the plague and refused to speak to him. One man even made the sign against evil with his thumb and forefinger and spat at his feet. Arthur was furious but Merlin stayed his hand.

"Arthur," he murmured. "We knew this was going to happen. People…people will be people, sire. If they are ever going to accept what I am then they have to come the conclusion on their own. We cannot force them."

"Merlin," Arthur said quietly. "Listen very closely, all right? You aren't a servant any longer and the position you maintain within my lands is an honorable one. People may not have to like you, but they have to respect you. And if they will not do so willingly then you have to give them reason to."

"I don't know what—"

"Stand up for yourself, Merlin! I know you can…you've stood up for yourself with me enough times. If you don't people will walk all over you. It is one thing to be kind and gentle and another to allow someone to bully you. My council members will eat you alive if you don't assert your control from the very beginning."

"My control? I don't want to assert my control, Arthur. I don't want to control anyone at all. I just want to be able to fulfill my duty to you without having to hide who I really am."

"Maybe control was the wrong word. You have to let them know that you are in charge of your own actions. Not them. Not me. Just you."

"That might just be the most eloquent thing you have ever said to me, Arthur."

"Oh, shut it, Merlin."

Still, it wasn't all bad. A few of the knight's who had not been privy to his secret bowed their heads respectfully at him. One old woman kissed him on both cheeks and slipped an old protective talisman in his pocket while Arthur was otherwise preoccupied. Two young soldiers begged him to recreate the wall for them, which Merlin had to politely decline. He felt like if he even thought about attempting another spell he might fall over, but he was flattered all the same.

Strangely enough, it was the admirers that made Merlin feel most uncomfortable. Every vigorous pump of his hand, every flash of a celebratory smile, every muted whisper of excitement made him feel as if he were in another world. When Arthur had first discovered his magic there had been shock, then anger, then worry, then acceptance. Their journey together had taken time and each of them had to adjust to the reality of the other; an ebb and flow of compromise. Even when they had returned home Merlin had been urged to hide who he was until a solution could be reached that would satisfy all parties involved. He understood the paranoia, understood the fear and the hatred because that was the reaction he knew. Disgust and disdain were emotions Uther had expressed every day of his life and up until recently Arthur had bore the same sickened expression on his face when magic was discussed. Merlin was used to hiding; he'd been doing it all his life, but now…now there was no hiding and it terrified him.

"Don't look so glum, Merlin," Arthur scolded, watching with amused eyes as Merlin awkwardly shook hands with an aging servant.

"I don't get it," Merlin whispered. "All these people, Arthur. Before tonight they didn't give me the time of day, but now that they know what I am…"

"You really are an idiot," Arthur said affectionately. "Merlin, you saved their lives. You're a hero."

"No," Merlin said immediately. "I'm not a hero, Arthur. I'm just…I only did what anyone would have."

"Unbelievable," Arthur snorted. "How many years have you been badgering me to give you some praise, hmmm? 'Arthur, you never give me the credit I deserve!' 'Arthur, if you only knew how many times I've saved your life!' 'Arthur—'"

"I don't sound like that, Arthur."

"Yes, you do. Like a nagging little girl."

"I do not."

"I think you will find that you do."

"Your point?"

"The point is that you sound like a gi—"

"You are such a prat, Arthur. A real dollophead."

"Dollophead is not a word, Merlin."

"Oh, so it's a word when you decide to use it but when I use it its not?"

"Exactly. You catch on quick for an idiot, Merlin."

"How is that fair?"

"Which part? My ability to use words you can't or you being an idiot?"

"Why do you get to use dollophead?"

"Because I'm the king."

"So?"

"So I get special privileges. It's what being a king means."

"I thought you said being a king means making the decisions nobody else wants to make."

"You really need to stop making things up, Merlin. I never said that."

"Yes, you did. When we were on our way to Ewyr Cadw, you said that—"

"No, I believe you are mistaken."

"You are impossible."

"And you are a little girl."

"Arthur—"

"Do you two ever shut-up," called a young voice.

Merlin and Arthur turned to see a grinning Bedwyr leaning casually against the wall, his missing hand tucked behind his back and his remaining limb entwined in the tiny fingers of the little Milda. She was bouncing on her toes, beaming up at Merlin with barely contained glee.

"Bedwyr," Arthur greeted happily. "I was wondering when I would see you up and about. It's good to see you well."

"Well," Merlin frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I had…a bit of a mishap," Bedwyr explained. "Nothing to be concerned about."

Merlin opened his mouth to question further, but Bedwyr glanced down pointedly at his sister and shook his head. The warlock nodded once to show he understood and the farmer grinned.

"Bedwyr," Arthur said thoughtfully. "I wanted to tell you how impressed I was with your actions on the battlefield. Truly, the actions of a real knight."

"Thank you, my lord," Bedwyr whispered, blushing furiously. "I hope you didn't take offence to what I had to do. Merlin said that—"

"If you are going to be a Knight of the Roundtable, "Arthur said with a small smile. "The first thing you need to learn is never listen to Merlin."

"Funny," Bedwyr laughed. "Merlin, I hope he doesn't treat you too har—wait, what?"

"A Knight of the Roundtable," Arthur repeated. "A special brotherhood made up of my most trustworthy knights…and my most cherished and loyal friends."

"I don't…what are you saying?"

"I'm offering you a knighthood, Bedwyr. There will be a great deal of training, of course. And you would have to leave your village behind, but its there if you want it."

Bedwyr's mouth opened and closed in shock, eyes wide in shock. Milda stared up at him impatiently, tapping her tiny foot against the stones. When her brother did not answer she rolled her eyes and sighed.

"He wants it," she said impishly. "He's just too excited to tell you himself." She glanced up at Merlin and rolled her eyes again. "Boys…"

Merlin laughed and she smiled. His laughter seemed to bring Bedwyr back to life and the young man shook his head in disbelief.

"I don't understand," he said. "The last time we spoke you were furious with me, sire. I thought…I thought you would be angry or at the very least annoyed."

"Bedwyr," Arthur said gently. "I should not have acted the way I did. I was terrified for someone I hold very dear and—"

"Is that your way of saying you love me?" Merlin smirked. Arthur pursed his lips and looked at him disdainfully. Bedwyr tried to cover up his amusement with an undignified snort, but Milda cared very little for the dignity of kings and laughed like she thought Merlin was the funniest man in the world.

"Do you want to know how else I say I love you," Arthur asked Milda with a serpent's smile.

Merlin shook his head vehemently behind his friend's back, but the little girl paid him no mind. She nodded once and Arthur's lips stretched even wider, baring his teeth in a feral grin. He turned to face the warlock and Merlin took a step back, bracing himself against the wall while Arthur raised his hand to thump him.

"Don't," Merlin said, smiling despite himself. "There will be consequences if you—Ow!"

"Don't be a baby," Arthur frowned. "I barely touched you."

"It's the principle of the thing, Arthur. I thought we were past all these violent altercations of ours."

"Merlin, if I remember correctly you have never been able to hit me in your life."

"Is that a challenge?"

"No, merely an observation."

"Arthur—"

"Don't do something you'll regret later, Merlin."

"I won't regret it. All I was going to say is that I've decided to take your challenge."

"I'm quaking in my boots," Arthur said in a bored monotone.

"You should be, sire. I'll have you know that I—"

"What I was trying to say, Bedwyr," Arthur interrupted smoothly. "Is that I acted incorrigibly and I apologize for my rudeness. But, despite my terrible behavior, you stood your ground and I appreciate the courage that took. You may only have one hand but you have the heart of a lion and that matters more to me. I would be honored to have you fight by my side and I know my knights will feel the same."

"I—I don't know what to say," Bedwyr gasped.

"Say yes," Milda cried jubilantly.

"You should listen to little girls," Arthur said knowingly. "They always have good advice. Take Merlin for example….he's full of it."

"Only you could insult me and compliment me at the same time," Merlin sighed, shaking his head.

"What do you say?" Arthur asked Bedwyr, ignoring his friend.

"What will happen to Milda if I become a knight? I won't leave her."

"You won't have to," Arthur replied instantly. "My wife has taken a shine to her and Milda seems to have taken a shine to Merlin. I think she will be happy here and we can arrange for her to have quarters with you instead of you living with the rest of the knights."

"Please say yes," Milda squealed, jumping up and down in excitement. "Oh, please, Bedwyr! Say yes!"

"What would you do in Camelot, little duck?"

"Go to school," Milda replied seriously. "I can learn things, Bedwyr. And…and…"

"And?"

The little girl blushed deep red and looked at her toes, no longer jumping. She mumbled something beneath her breath and glanced quickly up at Merlin before her eyes immediately shifted away again.

"What was that," Merlin asked gently.

"I thought…maybe….you could teach me," Milda said softly.

"Teach you…oh, you mean—"

"Uh-huh," Milda said with a small gap toothed smile.

Merlin felt his lips curve into a silly grin and there was the strangest floating sensation in his stomach. He was desensitized to the hatred of his gift, uncomfortable with the blind admiration, but the childlike wonder and genuine interest in Milda's eyes reminded him of what he had felt when he had first discovered the depths of his powers. The little girl had a thirst for the knowledge of the old world, of spirits and enchantments and all things magical and, more importantly, she wanted him to teach her.

Merlin glanced up at Bedwyr and he shrugged his shoulders as if to ensure the warlock of his neutrality in the situation. Milda stared at him with eyes full of hope and excitement.

"I think we can come to some sort of arrangement," Merlin answered softly.

"Hold on," Arthur blurted. "What just happened here?"

"I'm going to be a Magic Man," Milda exclaimed. "Or…woman."

"I suppose I have no choice then," Bedwyr laughed heartily. "I accept your offer, King Arthur. I cannot begin to explain how much this means to me. My whole life all I've ever wanted was to be a knight, but I never thought—"

"Sire," Leon called from down the hall. "The court awaits your presence and they grow impatient."

"Of course they do," Arthur sighed, rolling his eyes. "Bedwyr, we'll discuss the details later. For now, get some rest. We have a long couple months ahead of us."

"Yes, my lord."

"Milda," Merlin whispered, leaning down to meet her eyes. "Promise me something, will you?"

"Anything," Milda said softly.

"Don't try any magic without me. Can you do that? Do you promise?"

"I promise," Milda said, leaning close so she could kiss his cheek. "Thank you for saving us, Magic Man."

Merlin blinked and touched the tips of his fingers to where she had kissed him. His emotions rose up in him and his heart pounded an unsteady rhythm against his chest. He swallowed hard and closed his eyes, shaking his head slightly to clear the overwhelming sense of admiration and love he felt from the little girl in front of him.

"Thank you," he said to her. "Thank you for reminding me of why I love what I am."

He took a faltering step back from her and Arthur caught him beneath his shoulder, lifting him to his feet. Merlin put out a hand and pushed his king away from him with a gentle shove of his fingers.

"I can do it," he said firmly.

"Alright," Arthur allowed, watching him closely as Merlin slowly made his way down the hall. "Just…don't embarrass yourself, alright?"

Merlin snorted and shook his head, his fingers gripping the wall in an effort to keep himself upright. It felt good moving on his own and he wanted to walk into their meeting with the court without assistance. The last thing he needed was for them to think him weak or incapable.

When he reached the door, Merlin breathed in a giant breath and let it out slowly to calm his nerves. He was sure that they would have better things to discuss than his fate at the moment, but the uncertainty was still there. Arthur put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed gently.

"I'm right here with you," he said, as if reading his thoughts.

"I know," Merlin replied with a small smile. "You always are, Arthur."

"Don't make this sappier than it needs to be," Arthur huffed.

"You started it."

"I was giving a gentle push of encouragement, Merlin. I did not intend to begin an emotional discussion about our ridiculous friendship."

"I don't think its ridiculous."

"That's because you are a girl and you thrive on sappy things like kittens and puppy dogs and flowers."

"Arthur, need I remind you that there is a rather plump kitten named Merlina up in your chambers? She's not mine and she's certainly not Gwen's so I believe that the real sappy one is you."

"That doesn't count, Merlin."

"Why? Because you're the king?"

"No, don't be silly. It doesn't count because Merlina started off as a toad…she's not a real kitten which means I'm not sappy for keeping her."

"So…Merlina doesn't count as sappy because she used to be a toad?"

"Yes."

"And you think of her being a toad so that you don't feel sappy?"

"Yes, a very ugly one that's covered in warts."

"Let me see I understand. You have a kitten that used to be an ugly toad…"

"Merlin, where are you going with this?"

"Bare with me, sire. And instead of seeing her as a kitten you see her as a toad so that you don't feel sappy?"

"You can't actually be this stupid. We've already gone over this."

"Hush, I'm thinking. You allow this kitten that used to be a toad to sleep in your bed and you even let her snuggle up to you sometimes. Don't deny it…I've seen it. But, here is my question…if you look at the kitten as a toad so that you don't feel sappy then does that mean you snuggle up to a toad? Or, as you so eloquently put it, a very ugly toad that's covered in warts?"

"Of course not, Merlin. That's disgusting."

"But, you just said—"

"Did you really just waste five minutes of my time for that?"

"I am merely pointing out, once again, that you cannot have cake and eat it to."

"Of course you can, you idiot. You take a piece of cake in both hands. You eat one piece and you hold the other. I am eating my cake and having it to."

"What happens when you want to eat the piece in your other hand?"

"You cut yourself another piece from the cake."

"And when the cake is gone?"

"Merlin, we don't have time for this. My city is destroyed, my people are grieving, my court is demanding my attention and apparently I am going to start going insane. Open the damn door!"

"Admit you're sappy and I will."

"Merlin."

"Arthur."

"Open the door!"

"Admit it."

Arthur was quiet for a long time, staring at Merlin in what could only be disbelief. Merlin could tell he was itching to push him out of the way and open the door himself, but with his friend being as weak as he was Arthur was loathe to do it.

"Fine," he snapped. "I am a big sappy girl, is that what you wanted to hear?"

"I only said you had to admit you were sappy. I never said anything about admitting you were a girl, but I appreciate your honesty."

"You disgust me, Merlin."

"Whatever you say, King Sappyness."

"Merlin…"

"Yes."

"Open…the…damn…door."

"As you wish, my lord. As you wish."


	24. Higitus Figitus Migitus Mum!

**Author's Note: **_I woke up this morning to a much better day! The sun is shining! THE SUN IS SHINING! Battery tunnel is still closed but the Brooklyn Bridge is finally open again which is awesome! The subway won't be open again until tomorrow, but I can live with that. The stock market opened back up this morning as well. It was the first time since 1888 that we closed it. And….I still have power! Man, glad that Sandy is goooooonnnnnneeeeee! Starting tomorrow however we will begin the clean up, but we are New Yorkers. We came together after 9/11 and we'll come together now! GO NEW YORK! Anyways, thank you all for the concern and the reviews! I really, really needed them. Here is the last chapter so I better get some good feedback here as well. Love you guys! _

There is a moment within every life that forces them to stare their mortality in the face. For some, it comes early on, but for the majority it comes in the moment they wake up and realize their age has caught up with them. One moment they are racing to and fro, confident in their youth and the next they are filled with aches and pains in joints they didn't even know they had. Skin that was once smooth and filled with the healthy glow of the young suddenly turned wrinkled and stale.

Gaius, who had been an old man when the Purge began, knew this better than anyone. He knew, as every aging man does, that his time on earth grew short though he had learned long ago to avoid thinking on his remaining days too often lest he grow depressed.

It had been nearly thirty years since Gaius had practiced magic religiously. Thirty years since he had felt that familiar rush of energy through his veins. Thirty years since he had felt connected with something larger than himself. Thirty years since he had watched those with similar gifts go to their deaths for a crime they had not committed.

For some reason unbeknownst to him, Uther had decided to spare him from the fate of fire that so many of his people had been subjected to. To this day, Gaius wondered why he'd been given clemency, but had never dared to ask his king. Instead, he had turned a blind eye to the atrocities Uther was committing and threw himself into assisting his king in whatever endeavor the man needed, including tending to the young prince Arthur.

From the moment Arthur started to speak it was clear that the child was as different from Uther as one could possibly be. The boy was always quick to smile and laugh, though his tendency to do so had decreased drastically as he grew from a boy to a man. Arthur believed in the power of thought in a way his father never had. Even as a child he would sit and ponder a problem for hours and eventually come up with a solution that was so surprisingly complicated and detail oriented for a boy his age that Gaius would often have to think hard on the prince's words before replying.

The prince had always made friends easily and back when his days were spent racing through the forests after imaginary monsters there was little diplomacy involved. Little boys knew nothing of greasing palms and cared very little for the tit-for-tat mentality of their fathers. The young Arthur was willing to share whatever he had with whomever needed it and had received reprimands on more than one occasion for giving more than he should.

Then things had changed. Gaius could never pinpoint exactly when Arthur began to grow colder and more like his father. One day the boy was badgering him to allow the child to read one of his more gruesomely illustrated medical books and the next Arthur was bullying his servant in the yard. It was as if some switch had been hit and Arthur had suddenly shifted personalities.

Years passed and Gaius had begun to lose hope that the prince would ever become the man Gaius knew lay inside of him. There was no doubt that Arthur was a warrior, but was he a king? Then, as if he were a guardian spirit from the Old World, Merlin had come barreling into their lives with all the unstoppable force of an earthquake.

When the old physician had received Hunith's letter he had been unsure of what to expect. The tall and boyishly handsome young man who could do magic without a thought had certainly not been it. He had debated with himself for days over whether Merlin's presence in Camelot was safe for the boy and had nearly keeled over from a heart attack when, after only a day, the warlock decided to get into an altercation with none other than the crown prince. The stupid boy had nearly signed his own death warrant.

Then Merlin had saved Arthur's life and the two young men had been forced together. For weeks after Uther had rewarded Merlin with servitude to a man he despised Gaius remained convinced that eventually all hell would break loose. The boys were as different from each other as the sun and the moon, but shared a stubborn streak that consistently confounded him to no end. They argued fiercely over the most ridiculous of subjects until they became so disgusted with one another that they couldn't stand to be in the same room together. Merlin often came home, covered in manure or dirt or whatever other foul concoction Arthur could think up, cursing the day the prince was born. Yet, every morning without fail, Merlin would drag himself to Arthur's chambers and every morning Arthur's door would be open for him.

And now, after years of unlikely friendship and sacrifice, Gaius could see their destiny finally approaching. They still argued, still insulted each other in ways that would have made Ygraine blush if she'd been able to hear, still pushed and shoved like children, but now they did it as brothers instead of enemies. Gaius could not have been prouder and he thanked the gods that he had been allowed to see that day.

"Members of the court," Arthur said calmly, striking an imposing and commanding figure at the front of the room. "We have fought long and hard this night and we have emerged victorious. Allow me to thank each and every one of you for your assistance in this matter. Camelot could not have survived without your contributions and the sacrifice of your men."

"I think you are mistaken, sire," Sir Rowan said quietly. "Our men fought hard, but I believe we owe our true thanks to your warlock."

There was a general murmur of consensus among the members of the court and Merlin quirked his head to the side in surprise. Only a few remained silent, but compared to the outraged screeches of a few nights past, silence was as good as they could have hoped for.

"I would have to agree with you," Arthur replied with a small smile, turning to glance at Merlin who stood at his side. "Which is why I think, now more than ever, that magic should return to Camelot."

The court remained silent, waiting for their king to continue. Merlin was staring at his friend with an intensity Gaius had never seen from him before.

"Today I discovered many things," Arthur continued. "I discovered the depth of my friend's gifts, and they are gifts, make no mistake. I discovered how strong my people truly are and how capable they can be. I discovered that even the most wicked of people can contain a spark of goodness within them. And I discovered that my father, a man I loved and admired, made mistakes.

There is something defining about the moment that a man realizes their parents are just as human as they are. In that moment, the only thing we can do is forgive them for their faults and recognize them in ourselves then strive to fix them. I aim to fix my father's mistakes and, by doing so, create a land that is free of tyranny and fear. A land where children do not have to be afraid of who they are. A land where no one is ostracized and where differences are celebrated instead of hated. Where we can stand as one people, equal and fair.

This man that stands beside me believed in such a land long before I ever could. He hid who he was and sacrificed everything on the chance I might one day become the man he hoped for me to be. I do not know if I am that man nor do I know if he believes his sacrifice worth it, but I do know that I could not have asked for a more loyal friend or a better, more deserving man to serve beside me.

I am Camelot's king, but it is Merlin that will make us great, old friends. Merlin is the reason I am who I am. He is the voice in my head that guides me in almost everything that I do. He is the greatest protector Camelot has ever seen and the strength of his power and the depth of his wisdom will lead us to places we could have only dreamed of.

I do not expect you to understand my reasons for trusting him nor do I expect you to agree with them. I cherish each of your opinions and I strive each and every day to take them into consideration. However, I have come to my own decision regarding magic. Merlin, will you kneel, please?"

"What," Merlin blurted, completely caught by surprise. "Again?"

"Yes," Arthur sighed. "Again."

Merlin looked around at the faces of the court uneasily, but no one said a word. Even Yamish and Ewan had their heads bowed in grudging respect and Gaius was warmed to see the hope that flashed across his charge's face.

"Alright," Merlin whispered, slowly sinking down to his knees.

"Gaius," Arthur called. "Will you bring up the tokens I gave to you?"

"Of course, sire," Gaius called, pulling two large bundles from behind him and limping across the room.

He handed the first bundle to Arthur and the king flashed him a smile before turning back to Merlin.

"From this day forth," Arthur called loudly, unfolding the bundle. "I decree that magic is once again legalized within the lands of Camelot. As my right hand, Merlin will decide how and why penalties against wrongful use of magic will be delivered and any laws regarding magic will be of his making."

Arthur drew a long, thin sword from within the fabric wrappings and he held it up, admiring the blade for a moment. The weapon had been crafted from the lightest and strongest of metals available to them and each side of the blade was engraved with protective runes. The hilt was solid silver and the handle had a dragon head carved within the metal. In the center of the hilt was a small stone that sparkled in the firelight sending shards of deep Pendragon red around the room.

"This sword was crafted by a Druid priest," Arthur explained to Merlin, who was looking at the sword with wonder. "The runes on the side lend strength to the blade to make it unbreakable. This will be a sign of my faith in you and enable you to act on my behalf."

"It's beautiful," Merlin whispered as Arthur lay the weapon beside him. "Thank you. I promise I'll—"

"I'm not done," Arthur said. "Shut your trap and let me finish."

"Yes," Merlin replied drily, "I can really see how asserting my control with you worked wonders. No bullying at all."

"Hush," Arthur reprimanded, pulling the second bundle from out of Gaius's arms and facing the court. "I have also decided to reinstate a position within the royal court that has not been filled in almost thirty years. I believe that Merlin will be a perfect fit for the honored position of Court Magician."

Merlin's eyes snapped up and met Arthur's steady gaze. The young warlock looked close to tears and when he blinked Gaius could see his cheeks were wet. The king smiled and pulled a beautifully carved staff of cedar wood from the second bundle. The staff had been painstakingly carved from a sacred tree that the Druids believed to be the entrance to the heavens. The top of the staff had been strung with protective charms and Kilgarrah had breathed magic into the wood.

Arthur held it out to Merlin with both hands and the second the warlock touched it a pulse of power went sweeping through the room. Merlin gasped and his eyes glowed a brilliant gold for a moment before they finally dimmed as the power was released.

"Arthur," Merlin gasped. "What…what is this?"

"I had the Druids make it for you when they made the sword," Arthur explained quietly. "At first they were hesitant, but when I told them who you were they whispered something about destiny and brought me to the foot of this old tree. A priestess explained to me that her great grandmother had been visited by spirits when she was a young girl. The spirits told her that her ancestors would one day carve a staff of great power from the sacred tree and to await a man acting in the name of the warlock Emrys. It was his destiny to wield the tree's power and draw strength from the earth itself."

"Arthur," Merlin croaked, standing up shakily to throw his arms around his friend. "I can't…you have no idea what this means to me…how long I've waited…I—"

"Sappy," Arthur coughed, removing himself from Merlin's embrace.

Merlin snorted and stepped back, trying to wipe the tears from his eyes as he did so.

"Thank you," Merlin whispered. "Thank you for everything, Arthur."

Arthur opened his mouth to reply, but was stopped by the sound of thin applause from the corner of the room. Sir Rowan stood in front of his chair, arms outstretched as he clapped his hands. Merlin stared at him in openmouthed shock.

One by one the members of the court stood, applauding and cheering, until the room was almost vibrating with the sound of it. It was clear from the expression on Merlin's face that he didn't know how to react, but Arthur had stepped back behind him to where Gaius was watching.

"Do you see the look on his face," Arthur whispered. "Priceless."

"I don't think he ever expected this day to come," Gaius replied.

"My only regret is that it took this long," Arthur sighed as the applause died down.

"You still have a long road ahead of you, sire."

"Believe me," Arthur frowned. "I know. But…"

"But?"

"I used to be terrified of what the future had in store for me," Arthur answered, smiling softly. "But, now I'm not. I finally feel like I'm whom I am meant to be, Gaius. I just needed a gentle push from a certain warlock to figure that out."

"He can be surprisingly pushy when he wants to be," Gaius laughed.

Merlin turned to find them and Arthur stepped back to the front of the room. The rest of the meeting passed quickly and was a flurry of plans to rebuild and how to best handle the recovery of the wounded. For the first time in his life, Merlin was an active participant in the plans instead of having to plot secretly. He was asked questions about how magic could assist them and the young man was more than happy to answer.

After the meeting was over and the various members of the court had shuffled out the door, the two friends had all but collapsed in their chairs. Servants brought them soup, bread, and a flagon of cinnamon spiced wine to ease their gnawing stomachs.

"Court Magician," Merlin mused as he chewed. "I have to say I like that much better than either of my options."

"I thought you might," Arthur grinned, sopping up soup with his bread and stuffing it in his mouth.

"Arthur?"

"Hmmm?"

"I promise not to let you go insane."

"That's very sweet of you, Merlin."

"I only aim to please. Sometimes I lay awake at night and think of ways to make you happier. Things to say, chores to do, horses to clean up aft—"

"Merlin, don't overdo a good thing."

"Sorry, master."

"Merlin?"

"Yes, master."

"Stop it."

"Stop what, mast—"

"Call me master again and I'll beat you with your own magic stick."

"It's a staff, Arthur. Don't be disrespectful."

"Then don't call me master."

"Whatever you say, Dominus."

"Merlin, you just called me master in Latin."

"I have no idea what you are talking about, Despotos."

"Greek? Really? Where do you learn all this?"

"The difference between you and I is that I have a brain, Arthur."

"I have a brain, Merlin."

"Oh, there it is! I couldn't see it before because of all the dust from lack of use."

"I don't understand how we go from you thinking of ways to please me to me not having a brain in under five minutes."

"Special talent?"

"Perhaps."

"Arthur?"

"Hmmm?"

"Are you scared?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Merlin. A king isn't afraid of anything! You should know this by—"

"Arthur…"

"A little. I watched my father go insane, Merlin. It didn't look like something I really want to try."

"We'll fix it," Merlin said immediately. "I took an oath as your protector and I mean to keep it."

"Do you think our lives will ever be normal?"

"It's doubtful."

"Damn."

"My sentiments exactly, master."

"Merlin?"

"Master?"

"Shut the hell up."

And so the first night of Merlin's new existence passed as it always had: by Arthur's side. Neither man knew the future, neither man knew the horrors fate had in mind for them or the wonders they would see along the way. Neither man knew how they might be tested in the weeks to come, but what they did know, without a shadow of a doubt, was that they could count on each other to get through the dark times ahead.

The Once and Future King's rendezvous with destiny was close at hand and with it would come the aftershocks that would shape the entire world to his will. Gaius only hoped the rest of the world was ready and, as he listened to the two men bicker and banter he prayed to the gods that fate would have mercy on them. The price of destiny was a steep one and though Merlin had been paying it for many years Gaius truly believed the worst was still to come.


	25. Next Story

Check out the next story in the series: A Path to Insanity


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